


At Your Own Reckoning

by DarkTidings



Series: Grady AUs [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Corruption, Extended Families, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Families of Choice, Minor Rick Grimes/Beth Greene, POV Amanda Shepherd, POV Beth Greene, POV Rick Grimes, POV Shane Walsh, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Past Relationship(s), Pregnancy Scares, Prostitution, Rare Pairings, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 91,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings
Summary: After his divorce, Lieutenant Rick Grimes moves to Atlanta when Lori gets a job offer she can't pass up.  Newly minted Sergeant Amanda Shepherd takes the plunge into discovering the true extent of corruption in APD.  Beth Greene turns a dirty cop's interest in her into her own foray into undercover work.
Relationships: Beth Greene/Spencer Monroe, Carl Grimes/Sophia Peletier, Daryl Dixon/Lori Grimes, Jesus/Eugene Porter, Merle Dixon/Carol Peletier, Michonne/Shane Walsh, Rick Grimes/Amanda Shepherd
Series: Grady AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012032
Comments: 235
Kudos: 41





	1. Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkribbon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkribbon/gifts).



_And above all things, never think that you're not good enough yourself. A man should never think that. My belief is that in life people will take you at your own reckoning - Isaac Asimov_

Rick Grimes sits in the moving truck for a longer time than he anticipated, even after Carl and Shane drove off ahead of him. His son is always eager for a chance to drive, still hinting at a car of his own because Rick’s own car is a complete no go for a seventeen year old to drive. It’s not the overprotectiveness everyone teases, just the idea that teenagers and sports cars do not mix. 

The 1966 hardtop Mustang is a classic, though, and the last thing Rick wants to think about is the joyriding Carl would get up to, even if he does make fun of the fact that the car is yellow. It’s one of the few good things between him and Carl these days, mock debating whether the car is rubber duck yellow or the actual factory designated color of ‘Aspen Gold’.

Exasperation and disappointment are usually their more common modes. While Rick didn’t cause his divorce with a stereotypical midlife crisis, he upended what remained of his life by having one after the divorce was final. The Mustang? That part he thinks Carl would have been perfectly fine with. The divorce itself, his son understood, better than a thirteen year old should have.

It’s the girlfriends Carl objects so strongly to, or rather the fact that since he and Lori divorced, Rick hasn’t had a single date over the age of twenty-five. It’s like he and Shane had a personality transplant in their mid-thirties. His best friend settled down unexpectedly, while Rick had no fucking clue what to do with being a bachelor for the first time since college at the ripe old age of thirty-five. His therapist says it’s perfectly normal to sow wild oats a bit after a major life change. His son, however, thinks those wild oats should stay on Rick’s side of thirty.

Lori remarrying a year after the divorce and her calm, sweetly ordered life does not help his cause. Carl gets along great with his stepfather and flat out adores his two year old sister. On his better days, Rick is happy for Lori, that she found what she was missing. On days like today? He can admit the reason for all the coeds is that he’s just so damned lonely he can’t stand the quiet sometimes. The idea of venturing into an actual relationship when he bungled his marriage pretty spectacularly is more daunting than facing down a methed-out junkie with a loaded gun.

So here he is, about to turn forty in just a handful of months, and aside from four years of college and a few weeks of police training, about to live outside King County for the first time. Everything has changed in the last four years. Looking at the house, he can still remember coming home after that shift, exhausted because of the police chase and the impact to his vest, but still remembering the morning’s fight.

_Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all._

Lori’s words, thrown out into the millionth argument about his lack of communication with her, but so cruelly done in front of Carl. It never occurred to him as he related the story to Shane over lunch that it would cause his wife of thirteen years to have a life altering realization. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember standing in that same kitchen, but instead of supper with his wife and son, there was just Lori and a stack of papers.

Petition for Divorce. Joint custody of Carl, alternating weeks and holidays. Even division of assets, because years of being a full time wife and mother meant she was entitled to something for that college degree she wasn’t able to finish when he got her pregnant.

Rick offered to go to counseling, but even though Lori cried and cried, she was no longer willing to bend to his schedule for their marriage. She wanted counseling for three years prior to the day she finally lost her will to keep fighting, and he refused, thinking marital issues should stay between the couple. It proved their undoing, because that day, saying those awful, hateful words, broke Lori in a way he never expected. His wife hated the monster born of resentment and loneliness that was growing within her, so she excised it with the skill of a lumberjack turned surgeon.

She repaired her wings and flew, his first love. Tackling that incomplete college degree with all the fervor she ever gave to their picture perfect cover to an imperfect life that never quite fit properly behind it, she completed three years of college in two. Following that with a master’s degree in two more years, now she’s been offered her dream job, teaching photography and graphic art at a prestigious private school in Atlanta. The school offered Carl free tuition for his senior year, and Rick can’t take the opportunity away from his son of one final school year in a place that pipelines Georgian students right into schools like MIT and Harvard.

Putting the moving truck into gear, Rick pulls away from the home he grew up in, that he lived in for most of his adult life, and heads for the new life that awaits him in Atlanta. The thoughts still plague him once the truck is mostly unloaded, with Shane faithfully assisting as if they were still everyday partners instead of the weekend friends they’ve been for years since even Shane grew beyond sleepy King County and left.

"From the look in your face, I would think you are marching to your doom, not a perfectly nice apartment," Shane intones as he reaches out to lift the end of the sofa.

"I haven't lived in an apartment since college. It's a little weird." Rick lifts his end of the sofa, following Shane off the moving truck and letting the younger man lead.

"Considering you're the only man I know that kept his house in his divorce, count yourself lucky."

"That's only because Lori didn't want to live in my mother's former home the rest of her life." The house in King County isn't sold, just leased to a young newlywed deputy, thus the reason Rick has an apartment and not a condo or house moving close to Atlanta. 

At least the four years since have let him mostly pay off the mortgage he put on the house to give Lori her court ordered share. That's still a sticking point for him every time he makes the mortgage payment and then meets Shane and his fiance for a Sunday barbecue. Trust his partner to date Lori's feminist shark of a divorce lawyer. Then move in with her and propose. Although honestly, Michonne is such a perfect fit for Shane, Rick mostly wishes they met years earlier.

They thump the sofa against a living room wall. "Least you have a garage here for the Mustang. No more car covers to keep the tree sap off the paint."

"There is that. Where did Carl slip off too?" The teenager is supposed to be helping them unload, but he carried a box upstairs and disappeared.

"You got him a room with a balcony that overlooks the pool, it’s summer in Georgia, and you hafta ask that, brother?"

Rick just laughs and follows his best friend back downstairs. They haven't been partners in years, having been separated by promotions out of the patrol division before Rick's divorce was even final. But early last year, after Shane tapped out his ability for promotion in King County and jumped ship to another county entirely for the next step up for his career? He admits it's been lonely. 

At least now they're back in the same county, even if entirely different divisions. The fact that Shane technically outranks him is still weird though. Back when they started out as deputies, he never would have pictured Shane as a Major in charge of an entire division.

Now he just has to rebuild his relationship with Carl before the boy goes off to college and the chance is lost.

~*~*~*~*~

Amanda cuts around the house to the side gate, unlatching it and taking time to pet the overly friendly walker hound lurking just inside. She sets the shopping bag of chips and dip down on the patio table and greets Daryl where he's manning the grill. Now that her hands are free, she resecures the dark hair escaping her ponytail back under the hair tie, thinking for the hundredth time this summer that she should just hack it off and be done with the thick mass of hair.

"Made it before the food for once. Not bad, officer." Daryl’s smirk changes to a fond smile quickly though. Unlike his brother, he’s never been able to really lay on the snark with her. In his eyes, she’s always going to be the innocent five year old who offered her favorite stuffed animal to comfort a boy who just lost his mama.

"Just for that, I'm giving your hello hug to my niece instead. Where is she? And it's sergeant, not officer, remember?" 

Looking around, she notes that they’re the only ones outside at the moment, which means she’s not only early for once, but she’s beaten everyone else here. Not bad for someone Daryl’s wife regularly tells to be at events a full half hour early so she might make it by fifteen minutes late, right?

"Inside changing into her swimsuit." He points with his tongs at the tiny toddler pool on the grass just off the patio. It's a new house for her adoptive brother and his wife, more or less, since they've only been living this close to Amanda for two months now. Now visits can actually work around her shifts, instead of having to decline because King County is just too far away sometimes.

“You should get a membership at a pool as much as she loves the water.”

“Is that a hint to join that fancy athletic club of yours?” Daryl asks, looking curious instead of put off by the idea, like he once would have been. Marriage has settled that near feral streak that kept him from feeling like he fit into polite society.

“Might as well. It’s not like you can’t afford it nowadays.” She smiles at him and nudges his shoulder. “We’re not broke as hell foster kids anymore, now are we?”

“Guess we haven’t been that for a long time now,” he admits. “Grab yourself a beer out of the cooler, if you want. Merle will be by with the family in about half an hour.”

That’ll never get old, Daryl’s older brother settled with four kids, a wife, and a stable, legal business. She can still remember those two boys being shown into the foster home of stern Mama McGinley. Daryl was in shock, withdrawn and trying desperately not to cry over his mama’s death in the house fire. Merle was defiant, already being written off as a lost cause by most adults around him, but the dauntless woman took him in anyway.

Amanda’s just glad that when the ugly rage born of sixteen years of Will Dixon’s unkind hand finally boiled over for Merle and landed him in juvie long enough to age out of foster care, the woman didn’t throw in the towel on Daryl, too. The second those court papers rolled in where Daryl’s father finally terminated his rights, Mrs. McGinley became Mama McGinley to Daryl the same way she did to Amanda the year before she landed the Dixon boys in her care.

“Auntie!” She’s tackle hugged around the knees by two year old Naomi. 

“Hey, baby girl. You ready for your pool?” she asks, picking the toddler up for a hug and grinning as she nods and points to the Dora the Explorer tankini she’s wearing. Naomi gives Amanda a sloppy wet kiss on the cheek before wriggling to be put down so she can run off to splash into the water.

“Lori not coming out?” For the most part, she likes Daryl’s wife. At first, they seemed a little too odd couple to work, but it’s been four years now, three of them married, and she can admit the fidgety woman suits her brother well. It helps that Lori’s life prior to a college scholarship provided an escape mirrored the early Dixon brother years too much for any child to have lived through. Her sister-in-law was just a better chameleon than most, hiding all those years of doing without and even a stint in juvie herself behind the firm veneer of a proper, upper middle class housewife for over a decade.

The sheepish look on her brother’s face pretty much tells her before Daryl opens his mouth. “Remember how she couldn’t stand the smell of cooking meat when she got pregnant with Naomi?”

“Really?” Amanda can’t not hug him, grinning even though it pushes the issue festering in the back of her mind even further from sharing it with Daryl.

He’s spent a lot of years shedding the damage and reputation that comes from being a Dixon and staying firmly on the good side of the law. Mama McGinley let them keep their names, intent on not erasing where they came from, even if those places are not worth the effort to retain the history. Even hinting to him that she thinks she’s stumbled into a nest of vipers pretending to be officers of the law seems cruel. He won’t like her not sharing her worries, but maybe it’s best, for now at least, to just keep it to herself.

"Is Carl coming today?" She hasn't spent a lot of time with her nephew until this summer, since her visits didn't always overlap with his weeks at his mom's. "Bob gave me a pair of Braves tickets for next weekend to pass along."

"He's giving up Braves tickets? He sick?" Daryl starts taking hot dogs off the grill, stacking them neatly on one of Lori's handmade serving platters. Amanda has an entire set of dishes she didn't have to buy, thanks to Lori.

"Nah. His niece is getting married next weekend, so they'll be in Chattanooga. I'd mentioned Carl was getting moved up here permanently, so he passed them on." Bob Lamson was her training officer and later her partner on the force for six years until he made sergeant. Two years with another partner who just wasn't Bob, and she aimed for her own promotion.

"Think he might be by later, but they were doing the big move today. You gonna take him?"

Amanda grins at Daryl's wary look. He'll do a lot of things for his stepson, but huge crowds are not his style. "Nah. Thought he might want to take his dad. But I'll take him if the old man doesn't like baseball." With fewer extra shifts now that she's not just a plain patrol officer, she can guarantee that kind of thing better now.

"Don't have a clue. Bit of a boring workaholic when he's not a skirt chaser, best I know."

Ugh. Amanda forgot that part. She's never actually met Lori's ex-husband, but she's heard enough stories to form a picture of an aging wannabe lothario reliving his college years. Lori isn't negative, but Carl often is, and it doesn't take any detective work to fill in the blanks between the two.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up makes Daryl grin, and Naomi starts scrambling out of her pool dashing for the gate as fast as her tiny legs will propel her. Amanda laughs as Sophia gets tackle hugged by a soaking wet toddler. The seventeen year old doesn't seem to mind, lifting Naomi and juggling a canvas bag Daryl rescues that probably has enough goodies to feed an army.

She barely has time to greet her aunt and uncle before her siblings tumble through the gate. The oldest, eight year old Ruby, waves, but she's enamored of Daryl's dog too much to bother with people just yet. The five year old twins, Asher and Levi, clamor for Amanda's attention, making her miss Carol and Merle's entrance.

The words come out before her filter engages. "Good lord, Carol, are you sure it isn't twins again?" In the last two weeks, since she last saw Carol, it seems like she went from cutely pregnant to impressively so.

Luckily, Carol's sense of humor hasn't disappeared with her view of her own feet. "Checked and rechecked. If this turns out to be twins, or god forbid, triplets like my soon to be neutered husband suggested this morning, my obstetrician is going to have to explain her recently adopted offspring to her mother back in India for fibbing to me. I am only taking one baby home, I swear."

"Neutered? Christ, woman, I already had the vasectomy!" Merle sorts a chair out for Carol to sink into, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

"They take the balls when they neuter, Merle," Amanda elaborates. The twins cackle at the light vulgarity. Luckily, Lori isn't outside to hear it, and Carol too delighted in Merle's sputtering to remark on it. A decade as a Dixon is slowly but surely corrupting the woman.

Merle hugs Daryl on his way into the house. "I still say there's a receipt to return the mouthy sister, baby brother."

Amanda gets similar treatment. Although more likely to claim Daryl as their shared property and disclaim each other as relations, she has to admit to being more than a little fond of Merle now that he's quit being a hellraiser and put the brain God gave him to good use. Watching him go, she turns back to see Daryl smiling sweetly at her.

"Man needs to just admit he'd burn any receipt we found," he teases.

As Amanda gets drawn into helping the twins pick out drinks from the cooler, she admits, if only to herself, that two brothers isn't a bad thing to have. It's just too bad the issues she has now don't slot into those old sitcoms where big brothers can fix the little sister's woes just by showing up and looking intimidating. But she's a cop, with eight years of experience under her belt. She'll figure this out, one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going out ahead of schedule... Been bogged down with something RL with BetaDaughter's school, and figured I would post this instead of no chapter at all since inkribbon already had back from beta reading. 🙂
> 
> Atlanta PD Corruption AU (requested by inkribbon)  
> Primary POV: Rick & Amanda Shepherd  
> Pairings: Rick/Amanda  
> Background Pairings: Lori/Daryl, Shane/Michonne  
> Background & Request: Divorced Rick, years later. No Judith, no affairs. Rick with a therapist due to divorce and Lori & Shane moving on with lives and Carl growing up while he feels stagnated at 40. Carl age 17, final year of school. Amanda as a foster kid who shared a foster mother with Daryl after his mother's death. Include Beth in some fashion.


	2. Bad First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gets called to work for an ugly case and misses the ballgame with Carl, leading to a misunderstanding between him and Amanda after she steps in to take the boy to see the Braves play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm going to get _Life is Unknowable_ finished today, so I'm pushing out an early edition for this story, since it's usually written ahead of schedule so inkribbon can beta it. :) Some heavy notes on Rick's background below.

Rick sinks into his rather decent office chair with a groan after hanging his suit jacket up. Taking this job was intended to get him free of call ins at all hours, compared to being in charge of the tiny three person investigation department in King County. There was never enough crime to merit more than himself and two detectives or even dividing them up into types of crimes.

Here? He's got six detectives, all dedicated to property crimes. Another lieutenant has four detectives for crimes against persons, and a third handles drug specific crimes. The size of just criminal investigation here is still a bit overwhelming. At King County, he reported directly to the Sheriff, who had a Chief Deputy, but the man did double duty as their administrative department head, too, not independent of the three major divisions like here.

Now he has a Captain to report to, who reports to the Chief Deputy, who reports to the Sheriff. He's only even met the Sheriff once, as part of his orientation tour last Monday. Loosening his tie just a bit, he eyes the reports submitted by the detectives on duty and sighs before pulling them up on the computer screen to put an end to the chaotic day that caused him to miss out on the Braves game with his son.

"Definitely a hell of a way to end your first week." Shane's voice startles the hell out of Rick, and the glare he shoots his best friend isn't entirely pretend. 

The other man chuckles and sinks into the chair opposite Rick's desk. Where Rick is wearing lead detective standard dress - cheap suit and tie - Shane is in full dress uniform, obviously coming from the Sheriff's press conference. It looks hot enough to melt in the weak air conditioning of the office. Rick doesn't want to imagine it outside. His own suit jacket had been torture.

"How bad was the riffraff at the conference?" he asks, pressing save for his final report.

"Press was on it like piranhas. Sheriff's gonna be singing your praises, though, because it got handled so quickly. Dog fighting is bad enough, but linking it to a public figure? Could've been a real shitstorm without that confession."

Rick sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I think he actually wanted to get caught. It went from easy money, not hurting any people, to him finally understanding the dogs aren't inanimate objects."

The hardest part was finding housing for all the non-injured dogs while an assessment was made about their rehabilitation possibilities. Thirty-two dogs used as fighters or bait is more than any facility could manage in their county. They have off duty officers helping transport dogs as far as three counties away.

"Maybe someone will reconsider that the county needs some sort of animal control services after this," he suggests. "Even if not a county department, maybe we need one, instead of randomly assigning patrol to complaints."

Shane sighs and shifts in his chair. "Great idea, if we could get funding. Hell, we still have to rely on donations for our K9 officers to have armor." But Rick can see the idea taking hold, and thinks the next round of budget meetings his friend hates will probably launch something while public opinion is hot on the subject.

"We'll need to follow up on the seven dogs still in veterinary care. They had to euthanize three total from today's fights." Rick just got the call on the last one not ten minutes prior, but at least the remaining dogs are stable.

"Jesus, that's gonna make the Sheriff ready to spit nails. He's got four rescue dogs, you know."

"As if it's not making your blood boil, between Athena and Bandit." Rick has never been much of a dog person himself, but Shane's Athena is his retired K9 partner from after he and Rick split. Bandit the Affenpinscher is a huge contrast to the fifty pound Dutch Shepherd, a rescue off a case for a puppy mill.

"Damn straight." Shane heaves a sigh. "Might as well kick off for the day. See if you can salvage the evening with Carl."

"Good luck with that." Rick knew the second the phone rang with the work summons that he was about to suffer a few days of cold shoulder from his son. "Although hopefully he liked hanging out with Daryl's sister at the game. Always seems fond of her."

"Can't believe in three years, you haven't met the woman yet. Hell, even I have."

"Didn't seem quite the thing to attend the wedding like you did, and she's never been there when I was picking up Carl. Didn't see much reason to worry about it when all we have in common is Carl and being cops."

"Probably for the best. She's a pretty gal. Might have gotten yourself neutered for flirting with Daryl's sister." Shane gets to his feet, stretching briefly. "How about you and Carl come to supper one night this week? I'll have Michonne text you her schedule."

"Sounds good. Carl's always up for a visit."

As Shane disappears down the hall, Rick goes to switch off his computer as the phone rings. Seeing the caller ID is one of the veterinary clinics, he groans and takes the call.

By the time he's pulling into the apartment building’s parking garage, he's gotten a text from Carl that he and Amanda are eating supper before she drops him off. Rick isn't sure how much is having a good day with his aunt and how much is not trusting him to be home. Closing the garage door, he exits through the smaller access door to head for the elevator. 

When he's stopped by a college girl he knows lives in the building from exchanging polite hellos in one of the coffee shops across the street, he barely holds back the sigh. He just wants to get upstairs, shower, and maybe forget that things like badly mauled bait dogs exist. But he's been a cop too long to brush someone off who looks as worried as the girl does.

"They're starting to throw things at each other, my roommate and her boyfriend," she says. He tries to remember her name, thinking it might be Keri. The shouting can be easily heard on the girl’s cell phone, set on speaker, but obviously the other phone isn’t right with the roommate based on the garbled sounds. "I didn't want to call the cops, but I saw you pulling in…"

As pitiful as her expression is, Rick decides not to defer it to a uniform cop. As a deputy, he's got authority here, even though they're officially inside city limits with a city police department. "Stay outside, alright?"

He still calls it in to the local dispatch, alerting them to the possible domestic and getting the news they'll send an officer. For once in a long bitch of a day, the arguing couple deflates at the sight of his badge. By the time the uniform arrives at the fourth floor apartment, the boyfriend is suitably chastised and lectured to the inadvisability of returning to an apartment building where a cop lives.

Rick remembers he left his damned case file in the car as he’s leaving, so he bids the girls goodbye and heads back to the elevator and the parking garage. He’s on his way back to the elevator when Keri intercepts him, carrying a delicious smelling container of food. 

"I didn’t know which apartment you lived in, but you said you had to go to your car, so...I'm a culinary student. I was practicing tonight, and I made enough for three." She blushes prettily when he takes the container. "It's tea brined duck, with sweet potato puree, greens, and a cherry barbecue sauce."

Duck isn't really something Rick's ever eaten enough to know if he'll like it, but he nods. "It sounds tasty. I'll bring you the container back tomorrow." Part of the reason for his real estate agent picking this particular building is that he lives on a restricted access floor, and the less he gives out which apartment he lives in, the better.

"Thanks." As she hesitates, he knows she's debating flirting with him. One thing he's learned in the last few years is the signs for that. But there's stomping coming up behind him, and Keri flinches as a steaming ball of teenage angst brushes by her rudely.

Apologizing to the young woman, he calls Carl's name. Carl ignores him, jabbing impatiently at the elevator button, so Rick asks Keri to wait there, and strides purposely after his son. Having an opinion on his father's dating life is one thing. Nearly knocking over a young lady? Another fucking thing entirely.

"Dammit, Carl, if you get in that elevator, I swear you’ll be grounded until you have grandchildren!" When there's no response, he reaches the teenager and snags his elbow just as the doors open at last. "You will march your hormonal little backside over there and apologize to that girl for nearly knocking her over, or I will call your mother and tell her what you did."

As much as Rick hates to play the Lori card, he knows Carl's mother will be livid if she knows what he did, even more than Rick. Carl knows it, too, because he pales and does an immediate about face to head back to the young lady, who looks like she wants to run for the stairs and avoid this entirely.

Before he gets out of earshot, Rick calls out, "I just broke up a domestic with her roommate and the boyfriend. She didn't deserve some other testosterone ridden male showing his temper."

To Carl's credit, he flushes, ducking his head shamefully and nodding. Rick sighs, eyeing the nice food in his hand that will get cold, before following his son to make sure he apologizes nicely.

~*~*~*~*~

Amanda watches Carl's expression change from joyful from their day at the ballpark to grumpy in the blink of an eye. His farewell borders on rude as he slides out of the car and heads for the elevator that’s almost out of sight. Trying to figure out what set the teenager off, she cranes her neck and sees the couple between where she’s parked and the elevator.

Rick Grimes and his barely out of their teens girlfriends strikes again. When she looks down to check a text from Lori, she's startled by shouting in the distance, the sound muffled from her car windows being up. By the time she gets the window down, just in case Carl needs something since he’s headed sort of back this way, no one’s speaking yet.

Noticing Carl's leftover container from dinner on the backseat, she briefly considers just leaving anyway, not wanting to get tangled in family drama. She feels bad for the boy, who really was looking forward to the game with his dad. Unlike herself, who knows baseball enough not to be entirely lost at a game, apparently Rick really is a diehard baseball fan, following the Braves and the team from his old college both. He records all the Braves games he can't watch live.

But the idea of wasting food still chafes, even years later, too many of Mama McGinley's reminders about not all children getting full bellies echoing in her mind. So she reaches for the container, stepping out of her car just as Carl reaches the girl who doesn't look old enough to drink who seems to have set off this family squabble. Curious, she watches as her nephew stands dejectedly, hands shoved in his pockets.

The girl’s expression sours as she turns to face Carl, and she immediately crosses her arms in a way that makes Amanda start to intervene. But Rick approaches, stopping not far behind the teen. "I believe you have something to say to the lady, son." His voice is so damn frigid that Amanda wants to shiver. Leaning against her car, still parked in the numbered spot Carl assured her was for their apartment and unused since his father also has a private, secure garage space in the parking garage, she listens intently.

"I'm sorry for being rude," Carl mumbles. "I shouldn't take my temper out on others."

The girl glances to Rick, then back to Carl. Nodding hesitantly, she sighs. "I guess we can say it was an accident this time. No one got hurt."

Released from his task, Carl nods and thumps back to the elevator. Rick runs a hand through his curly hair and smiles at the girl. "We were supposed to go to a ballgame today, but I got called to work. I guess he is still upset with me."

The girl shrugs, but she does return Rick's smile, shifting her position from standoffish to coyly flirting. "It's a teenager thing."

Amanda barely keeps from scoffing out loud, because this infant of a female probably can count the time away from being a teenager in weeks, not years. The man in front of her is old enough to be her father, and she's damn near flashing him boob like it's a Mardi Gras parade and he holds all the beads. Rattling the container, she clears her throat, drawing both their attention.

"Carl forgot his food," she says, not bothering to hide her scorn at the scene before her. Flicking her gaze at the girl, she's pleased when there's a babbled excuse and the girl dashing for the stairwell door, ignoring the elevator entirely. She hopes the little flirty brat lives at least five or six floors up. When Rick turns, arching a brow, she can't resist adding, "Did you at least check her ID to make sure she's not jailbait?"

The curiosity on the man's face disappears instantly, replaced by a coldly angry expression that would make someone who didn't grow up alongside a Dixon squirm. Amanda just keeps her disdainful expression firmly in place. Puh-lease… she's been a beat cop too long to quake because some man is pissy toward her. The fact that there’s a strong tinge of inexplicable hurt in the expression is something she also ignores.

"I don't think it's any of your damned business," he says, but reaches for the container she's held out. "Thank you for taking Carl to the game. It's been an excruciatingly long day, and I'm not in the mood for judgmental bullshit from you or anyone else."

Rick turns and heads for the elevator, back so rigid she thinks it ought to hurt. The man’s a special sort of asshole, she thinks, reminding herself to send her sister-in-law flowers or chocolates or something in commiseration for being married to that man for over a decade. Huffing out a breath, her eyes widen as she sees him pull out the sort of access card in the elevator that is needed to access the _fucking penthouse level_. 

She’s responded to a call in this very building before, and she knows those access cards well from having to follow the snooty, finicky manager up to the very expensive, very secure thirty-fifth floor penthouse level to talk to a man whose car was stolen and recovered. It combines with an actual thumbprint scan, too, for the sort of insane level of security she thinks belongs in a bank, not an apartment building. There are ten of the very exclusive units up there, she remembers, and she wonders which one the two Grimes males live in.

Just how much money does this man have? There have been indications over the years that Lori married into money, but Amanda figured after hearing secondhand about the fuss with the mortgage on the man’s family home, it wasn’t this kind of money. Hell, she already feels like she's invading between the obviously luxury surroundings and manned security gate for the parking garage. While logic says it makes sense to live somewhere with great security when the man is a cop with a son home alone at times, this just _stinks_ of too much money. A goddamned _penthouse_?

Amanda's apartment complex isn't one of the fancy places with all the amenities and gated access like Rick's upscale one. She bets the ancient 1960s built apartment she lives in costs a third of what Rick's does per month, maybe even just a quarter. The contrast between her little building and the luxury tower makes her shudder as she drives up and parks. Climbing the stairs, she walks along the outside breezeway to her door, glad that her elderly neighbor isn't outside for once. She's lived here, in this same small apartment, ever since she moved to Atlanta. Lori and Daryl would both prefer she move, but she's a cop who lives alone. She doesn't need gates and security guards and fucking _penthouses_.

Inside, she does her usual walkthrough before taking the off duty weapon she carried today out of the vest pocket designed for the small handgun and her badge. The leather vest is hot in Atlanta's sweltering August heat, but she would rather be considered to be making questionable fashion choices than be caught out unarmed. Unlacing the leather vest, she hangs it up in the closet and puts the gun in her nightstand drawer that doubles as a gun safe.

Amanda's shirt underneath the vest is sticky with sweat, so she strips it off and heads for the kitchen. Her sports bra is enough of a top inside her apartment. 

They offered to update the paint and and put in carpet a few years ago, but she saw no reason to change anything. With no kids or furry pets, everything is perfectly serviceable even after nearly nine years here. Off white walls throughout the apartment suit her just fine, as do the hardwood floors. 

Despite Lori's artistic twitches when she thinks colorful things should hang on the walls, there is color in the apartment. There's a bright red striped blanket thrown over the back of the brown leather sofa, and a near immortal devil's ivy on the small two seater dining table lending a splash of green to the kitchen. Plus the colorful dishes Lori made, although those are stored behind the closed doors of the brown cabinets. She sees no need to display her precious photos of her brothers and their families where anyone can see them. That's what her albums in the bedroom are for.

Not to mention that her bedroom has a bright red comforter spread out on the bed, but that's half depressing, because she remembers how long it's been since anyone shared that bed with her even for a couple of hours. That's probably half of her sort of bitchy reaction to Rick Grimes earlier, because she hates people who just fall into bed as carelessly as that man seems to do. Shrugging off the glum mood, she snags a bottle of water from the fridge and a quail egg from the counter, taking the water bottle to sit by her recliner. 

The egg she takes to the snake enclosure that sits where most would have a desk or maybe an aquarium. Opening the vivarium, she drops the egg into the little false nest and deftly moves it to hang on a different branch for Tanith to find. The viv is much larger than the snake actually needs, but she likes the idea of her little friend always having plenty of room to roam in her little false forest. Checking the humidity and temperature, she peeks at the snake coiled up in her little false coconut cave. 

"Bite any burglars while I was out?" Amanda asks, thinking it's hilarious how many people are afraid of being bitten when they meet Tanith. Never mind the impossibility since the African egg-eater is virtually toothless. Stroking a finger along the snake's head, she secures the enclosure and goes to wash her hands.

Settling in her chair, she turns on the television just in time to catch the news. Spotting the distinctive dress uniforms of one of the many counties around Atlanta, she turns up the volume. The tall man standing to the right of the sheriff looks familiar, and it takes her a minute to recognize the man from Daryl and Lori's wedding. It seems Rick's old partner has done well for himself, based on the rank insignia she sees.

Taking a swig of the water, the content of the sheriff's speech registers, and she grimaces. A goddamned dog fighting ring? Will those bastards never learn? Hoping they caught the culprits, she focuses on the footage from the secluded property and freezes. Suit jacket left somewhere safe, she's got a clear glimpse of Rick Grimes carrying a blanket wrapped dog to a waiting transport van. She doesn't think she's seen a grimmer expression short of a murder or rape on a cop's face before.

"Well, shit. Maybe he was entitled to a little cheerful college girl company tonight," she mutters. If she knew him better, she would offer an apology, but as it is, she thinks keeping out of Rick's business is her best bet. Glaring at the water bottle, which no longer seems sufficient after a story full of suffering animals, she goes to trade it for a beer and a night of Food Network to hopefully erase the images from her brain.

If the sight of those hurt, arctic blue eyes repeatedly creep up in the back of her mind, that's nothing Amanda has to admit to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many readers know, I view Rick as coming from a very privileged background. For this story, it's enhanced a whole lot further, making him from comfortably very upper class to literal trust fund kid. He's never really faced the idea of that money, and let his family money just go to charity or be reinvested. Details will unfold over time, of course.
> 
> Yes, he really does live on the penthouse level of a _very_ luxurious fictional highrise in Atlanta. Being extremely clueless about real estate, he let the attorney who manages his family money select an apartment and just signed the contract sight unseen. He just asked for high security for Carl being there alone at times, and well, the attorney had a blank check... and went a little apeshit on "security".
> 
> This is one of the things that makes him ideal to drop undercover with the dirty cops, as of course, a cop living like he does has to be dirty... especially with his family money tied up under his mother's surname and not his father's.
> 
> Conflict between the trust fund boy and the foster care girl will continue, of course.


	3. Setting the Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergeant Gorman's unhealthy interest in Beth Greene results in a sugar daddy she didn't plan on, but Beth's always thought fast on her feet. Rick may be the one in over his head, not her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene is the same as the Bunny Farm trailer, but the rest? Beth's role is this story got much, much bigger.

Beth is hot despite the air conditioning of the bar, partly because she’s been run off her feet all damn night. Although officially, she’s hired as a bartender, she’s still learning that part of the job, so when they’re packed to standing room only like tonight, she ends up as a server instead, running food and drinks out to the tables. Perspiration is making her red polo cling to her back, and she’s grateful for the thin material allowing some air circulation.

Sliding the baskets of loaded nachos in front of two off duty firemen, she absentmindedly smiles at the flirty thank yous from both men. It’s a constant, the innuendo or flirting, but ninety percent is fairly innocent, just men and sometimes women liking to blow off a little steam after long shifts. Her boss warned her it would happen, and he puts a stop to any that really cross the line, if the healthy sprinkling of off duty cops or other first responders don’t step in first.

A table calls out for a fresh pitcher of beer, and she nods, snagging the old pitcher and clearing two now empty tables on the way back to the bar. The waitressing part is easy enough, since it doesn’t differ much from the regular restaurants. She drops the dishes into the bus cart to roll into the kitchen later and puts in the request for the pitcher. Leaning against the end of the bar to watch as Merle selects the appropriate draft, she gives a startled meep when a big hand lands firmly against her right ass cheek, cupping it firmly.

The immediate elbow to her left dislodges the hand with prejudice, and she finds herself facing not a random drunk asshole, but one of the off duty cops. Those are unmistakable, even in civilian clothes, just by the way they hold themselves. This one’s new, a sour looking man she hasn’t seen in here before, but she’s only been working here two weeks.

“Now, pretty thing, don’t be rude to those who serve and protect.”

The sheer nerve of him implying grabbing her ass is some sort of benefit for wearing a badge makes her cringe. “Sorry, officer,” she says, emphasizing his title. “I’m taken.”

She isn’t, but sometimes that back off the worst of the handsy types. Seems many men don’t really like to be seen as intruding on another man’s territory.

“Sergeant, actually. Can’t no boy give you what I can.”

“Gorman.” Merle’s voice is cold and gravely as he sets the pitcher down on the lower level of the bar for Beth. “Leave the girl be.”

“Now, Dixon, you know crossing the law is a real bad thing for a man of your history.”

There’s something ugly in the cop’s voice now that makes Beth’s skin crawl worse than him touching her did. She hates the idea that her boss is being threatened for something in his past because of her.

“Girl’s taken. Didn’t take you for a poacher.”

Something about that word makes Gorman straighten up, looking to Beth assessingly. “Your wife know you’ve got a pretty side piece?”

The careful way that Merle reaches out to pull Beth behind the bar amps up her sense of something dangerous here. “Didn’t say she was mine. Remember my nephew?”

“Your brother’s stepson?”

“That’s the one. His daddy’s a cop, too. Just moved up this way for the county.”

Beth puts two and two together and figures she’s about to get a boyfriend about twice her age from the sound of it. As long as he stays pretend and far away from Beth, she isn’t going to object.

“Remember you saying he had a thing for coeds.” Gorman laughs, and the slimy nature of it makes her feel like she needs a shower.

“Yeah, he does. Why else you think I would hire a girl with no experience tending bar? It was a favor.”

It was a favor, although not to this unknown cop that likes girls Beth’s age. She eases around Merle, who slides the pitcher her way. “Take that out and then go pull more orange juice from the cooler, Bethie.”

She nods, taking the out when it’s offered. Maybe this job isn’t worth it, with a man like that around that Merle can’t seem to throw out like the other assholes. But the tips are phenomenal. Working here means she doesn't have to take out student loans to finish out her last year of college and might even get some money put toward graduate school. Hopefully the smokescreen Merle gave her will be enough.

~*~*~*~*~

Rick slides onto the bar stool after draping his suit jacket across the back. Loosening his tie, he leans back and studies the bar. There's three bartenders on duty, including Merle, handling a heavy Friday night crowd. Three servers are hustling around the tables, carrying as much food from the busy kitchens as liquor from the bar.

The delicious smells from the food remind him he didn't eat before coming here. As much as he's heard Carl rave about 'Aunt Carol's cooking' over the years, he figured he might as well find out for himself. He knows Carol is on maternity leave, with her latest child due in three weeks, but it's still her recipes here.

Getting the random call from Merle on Tuesday surprised him. He's had nominal contact with the man over the past few years since Sophia and Carl became friends, but mostly it's been arranging visits between the two best friends that cross into Rick's time with Carl. It isn't the first time he's asked a favor directly of Rick. Monitoring the prison status of Sophia's bastard of a sperm donor is something he's more than happy to do. Luckily, Ed's as stupid as he is violent. Man's managed to get his sentence extended, not shortened for good behavior.

Since he's not sure which of the servers is the one he's supposed to be dating, since two of the three are blonde, he studies the menu until Merle himself moves down the bar and plunks a tumbler of something opaque and white down in front of him with a grin before he leans on the bar. The grin doesn't reach the man's eyes.

"Local Georgia bourbon we're carrying now," he says to explain the drink. "Let Beth know if you like it. She's headed this way with a tray of dishes."

Rick is covert with his glance, but he almost asks Merle if he's sure the girl is old enough to be working as a bartender. She looks barely sixteen, not nearly twenty-two. The bourbon actually is nice, if a little odd that it's a cream bourbon, and he sets the tumbler on the bar to smile at her as he turns sideways in the end seat.

Beth offloads her tray into the dishbin before stepping into the space between his knees and draping her arms over his shoulders. From behind, he expects it looks like a fairly risque kiss for being in public, but from his and Merle's angle, it's just Beth speaking softly.

"Sorry about the bourbon. It was the signal it was you Merle gave me."

Draping his arm around her waist to keep her close, Rick takes another sip of his drink. "It's actually pretty good. I might have to find a bottle for home."

Merle's making drinks for a server, but he obviously hears Rick's words, pitched higher than Beth's lowkey warning. "I'll make sure you get a bottle," he says. "You can go ahead and take your break, Beth."

Rick's a little surprised that this seems to involve him, as she snags him by the wrist and tows him with her into a tiny staff room in the back. She locks the door, which makes him arch a brow. "Merle was pretty clear this was supposed to be just a cover."

Beth giggles, going to fish a bottle of some sort of vitamin water out of the fridge. "It's called setting the scene, Lieutenant Grimes. The staff room door can be seen from the area of the bar Gorman and his cronies are lurking in. In about three minutes, Merle will tell Laura to take her lunch break. She'll have a fit about being locked out, and he'll comp her a free salad to make up for telling her to lay off."

"So she's part of the facade?" Rick wishes he'd gotten more information from Merle other than he needed a favor for a girl being pestered by an asshole cop.

Beth takes a drink of her water and shakes her head. "Laura's acting skills aren't any better than yours. You would have given everything away if you'd been facing Gorman."

"So what does us being in here prove, other than getting me caught up?"

"Well, I'm fairly sure Gorman's going to think you were too impatient to wait for the end of my shift and slipped in here for a quickie." She sets the bottle on the table and crooks a finger at him. "I may be a biomedical engineering major, lieutenant, but I do enjoy my community theater work."

Unsure of what she wants, Rick approaches, letting her curl her fingers into the fabric of his dress shirt in a way that is guaranteed to wrinkle it. "I should warn you that Merle said if I took advantage of you, he was going to neuter me with a set of hedge clippers."

Beth laughs, tugging him closer until he's pressed against her, and he wonders how she ended up sitting on the table. "He's quite right that you're not going to get lucky. But Gorman's suspicious already, and I think the man's a damned human lie detector sometimes."

"How did Merle manage to put one over on him, then?"

"He can't read Merle. Drives him crazy. He gets a little chatty when he's had a few too many, and goes from leering at the servers to thinking we're furniture." She grins and releases her grip on his shirt, going to finish the job with his tie. "You, however, are a fairly open book."

"What's your solution?" he asks as the doorknob rattles and cursing ensues. 

"This." Beth's kiss isn't implied this time, and he returns it in a sort of bemused state. She tastes like something tart, probably the vitamin water. When she finally lets him up for air, she definitely looks like she's been kissed, all traces of the red lipstick that matched her work polo gone.

"Happy now?"

The minx looks very proud of herself, even as she snags a napkin from the dispenser on the table and carefully wipes away the lipstick he’s now wearing instead of her. "It's a good start." Running her fingers along his jawline, she hums. "This five o'clock shadow would leave beard burn."

Rick sighs. "If you get Merle after me with gardening tools, I'm using you as a human shield." Lowering his head, he scruffs the tender skin of her throat, trying to think of the contact needed if he was seducing her. As pale as she is, the redness almost glows. He'd be damned embarrassed if it wasn't intentional.

Beth just grins and checks her watch. "Not long enough. Quick trivia. I'm in my last year at Tech, biomedical engineering, but no classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester. I live in a quad dorm on the east side of campus, which sucks but it's cheapest. Planning grad school at Tech, too, majoring in robotics with the intention of specializing in biomechanics."

Rick blinks at the deluge of information. "What would biomechanics entail, other than sounding futuristic?"

"I want to design prosthetics that work with the body's nervous system." She looks a little shy at that. "My father's a veterinarian. He had a below the knee amputation after a farm accident."

"An admirable reason to study it." Rick sits in one of the chairs at the table as Beth finishes her water. "Not sure how much Merle told you. My only son, Carl, will be eighteen in October. He's starting as a senior at Silverleaf Academy on Monday."

With Beth watching the time, they play a rushed game of twenty questions without the questions, trying to exchange enough information to make their six weeks of dating believable. Gorman's ramped up the asshole behavior in the days it took Rick to drop by, apparently not believing the relationship exists yet. Just as they reach the fifteen minute mark, she motions for him to turn around. While he faces the door, he hears rustling but resists turning to see what she's doing.

The mystery is solved when she tucks a small scrap of satin cloth in his pocket. It distorts the line of his slacks, and he blushes as he realizes what she's done. "Grab some supper, Rick. It's my treat tonight."

Glancing uneasily at the knee length skirt she is wearing, he nods. "How about I let you pick something out then?"

"Oh, such freedom," she teases. "And don't worry. I've got bike shorts under the skirt. I take the bus home."

"When do you get off work tonight?" he asks, uneasy at the thought of her on the bus so late, even though he knows she probably does it regularly to get home to her dorm. This cop really worries Merle, and the big redneck isn't the type to rattle easy.

"Eleven. The kitchen mostly closes then, so things slow down."

"I'll give you a ride home, alright?"

Beth shrugs. "Sounds good. Rubber duck yellow Mustang, right?"

The teasing reminder of him telling her Carl's color definition has them both grinning as they leave the staff room. It probably adds to the staging Beth was after, because when he sits at the bar again in the seat saved by the suit jacket left behind, he gets a tap at the bar from Merle, and this time, the grin is genuine. "What's your preference for draft? Got the usuals plus a couple of Georgia crafts."

"Give me a local lager, but I've got food coming. Will probably head for a table." There are strategic televisions all over the bar, almost all set to some sporting event. Rick uses looking at the screens to scan for the man Beth identified as Gorman and gets lucky that the man's at a table beneath a Braves game playing. Thanking Merle for the beer, he drifts to a two seater booth that gives him a good view of cop and ball game.

His evening is pleasant enough, starting with Beth's choice of the aptly named southern burger, topped with fried green tomatoes, pimento cheese, bacon, and avocado ranch. He almost doesn't need the side of baby carrots and broccoli she brings with it. 

Beth joins him later on her actual lunch break, easing her legs across his knees under the table. When Rick massages her calves, he doesn't miss the intent stare from the cop he's already labeled as the self important asshole sort that gives all cops a bad name. It makes him wonder if there's more that can be done to dissuade the man, but it's doubtful.

Beth picks at her salad, looking tired and sipping at her water more than actually eating. He's starting to understand why she has such a thin build. Smart enough after years of marriage not to comment on her appetite, he hopes she's at least eaten decently earlier in the day.

The Braves game ends with a win, with a west coast game following. Rick notices his second grumpy observer and suppresses a sigh. Trust his luck for Amanda Shepherd to visit the same bar. At least Beth's fake romance will be reinforced if the entire family hears about it.

A trip to the men's room takes him past Amanda's table, and he wonders a bit at her seeming to hang out in the bar like he is. She doesn't seem to be drinking, based on the fact he knows the drink just delivered to her table looks like rum and coke, but he saw Merle skip the rum part. None of the other Atlanta cops are hanging out with her, and her food is long gone. No one comes to a bar to read, but apparently, Amanda Shepherd does.

She actually ignores him other than that same judgmental stare he got last Saturday. On the return trip, Beth's dropping off a basket of sweet potato fries for Amanda and greets him sweetly in passing, slinging an arm around his waist and boldly introducing him to Amanda. The sour look on the other cop's face doesn't phase Beth, who chatters onward fairly loudly about the lovely pool at Rick's place.

"It's thirty-two stories up, and there's a second infinity pool, too. You feel like you're just going to swim right into the Atlanta skyline!"

Rick opts for besotted and a little dirty old man combined, noting they are within earshot of Gormon's table. "I hadn't noticed the view, not with you and that barely there bikini. And all that sunscreen I had to apply to keep all your pretty skin safe."

When Amanda's glare settles on his pocket, Rick makes a show of retucking the escaping edge of satin back safely into the pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Gorman watching the exchange, as is one of his buddies. Both seem intent on what's in his pocket, just like Amanda. As soon as Beth's called away, he starts to leave, only to hear Amanda call out, "Grimes."

When he looks back, she's definitely pissed off. "Real men don't go for the barely legal. Ever thought about dating someone your own age?"

Reminding himself of Beth's caution about setting the scene, Rick takes the insult personally enough to let his anger creep into his voice. "Sounds like the jealousy of a woman who hasn't been laid in a while, Shepherd. Happy to fix that for you."

If looks could kill, he would be a dead man right now, and he amps it up by smirking at her when she doesn't reply. "No? Well, if you change your mind, let me know. You aren’t exactly my type, but I can make an exception. Everyone needs a little love."

As Rick returns to his table, the spot between his shoulder blades itches with all the stares he's getting. More than just Gorman and friends overheard the exchange. It gains him side looks from Gorman all night, and Amanda's glare never fades.

When Beth clocks out and comes to fetch him, he pays for his part of the tab, and Merle doesn't say a word about the large tip he leaves when he sees the tab is under Beth's service code. Placing a protective hand firmly at the small of Beth's back, he catches movement and spies Gorman heading for a vehicle as he shuts Beth's door.

Sliding in the driver's seat, he leans in close enough to be kissing and tells her about their shadow. "Don't feel right taking you home. How weird would it be to bunk at my place? You can take the hideabed in the den or even Carl's room since he's at his mom's this weekend."

Beth tenses at the mention of Gorman and sighs deeply. She doesn't seem scared, but she's tense enough to set off his protective instincts further. "I don't think I would mind that at all. Like I said, I'm not sure he believed Merle about you before tonight."

When Gorman's car follows him all the way to his own parking garage, Rick is glad of the extra caution. Maybe they're committing to more of a show than they intended, but all it does is make Rick determined to figure out this asshole and how to see just how his career can end in early retirement. He'll talk to Shane on Monday. Surely he'll have a few ideas.

~*~*~*~*~

Amanda pays her bill, lingering at the bar long enough to watch Gorman follow Rick and the new server out the door. Worried about the interest the corrupt sergeant has in Beth, she makes her way to the parking lot to see Rick is giving the girl a ride, at least. Amanda's seen her taking the bus before, but she knows Merle usually walks out to make sure Beth gets on safely. The danger would be the walk from the bus stop to her dorm on the other end, and no one would stop a cop who is stalking a coed. 

She used to frequent the bar irregularly because none of her coworkers know she's related to Merle, and she likes it that way. It's not being ashamed of him, but as a woman, she's already got an uphill battle without being openly related to an ex-con. But the cops she's been trailing visit several times a week, so it's become her own new hangout. If sitting and ‘reading’ in a bar reinforces the already rock solid reputation for being too uptight for her own damn good back at the precinct, she doesn’t care. She rarely absorbs a word, but makes sure she changes the book every two days so it looks like she’s actually reading.

When Gorman follows the flashy yellow sports car, she tamps down on the uneasy feeling the man inspires and follows. The joy of a generic car like her silver Honda Civic is that there are hundreds of the plain little cars on the roads, unlike Rick's distinctive Mustang or Gorman's bright red King Ranch Ford truck that's probably never seen an ounce of the work a truck is meant for, ever. The truck paces the Mustang all the way back to Rick's building. Once the sports car disappears behind the security gates, Gorman heads on by.

Amanda finds herself shaking her head as she keeps following Gorman. If the college girl is foolish enough to be screwing a man twice her age, it's not Amanda's problem. If the idea of that scrap of green satin peeking out from the asshole's pocket makes her skin crawl, she hopes it crawled even further up Gorman's ass. And that chatter about the pool and Beth in a bikini? Offering to fuck Amanda so casually, like it is a favor? 

Amanda nearly punched him in the nuts right then and there. Only Gorman's smirking asshole presence stopped her. She'll just have to settle for wishing the man a painful, penis rotting STD instead. Jesus, if Rick Grimes gets any more typically midlife crisis male, they'll need to give him his own wikipedia entry as a definition for it.

But Gorman’s attention on the girl? That’s not safe. The more Amanda digs discreetly into what’s going on behind the scenes, the more she realizes that they aren’t just shaking down the low level drug dealers or miscounting money turned in on busts to pad their pockets. Just yesterday, she took a report from a prostitute complaining that she was required to give two unnamed cops a freebie to avoid an arrest, and the description? It’s disturbingly like Gorman and his closest pal, O’Donnell. 

The lieutenant told Amanda to bury the complaint, since it’s obviously just a disgruntled hooker looking to spite a cop who interfered with her illegal behavior, and it’s yet another layer of worry to wonder just how widespread this collection of dirty cops goes. She prays the lieutenant isn’t part of it, because Dawn Lerner’s been her mentor since she joined the force, back when the stern older woman was just a sergeant. She taught Amanda all the extras that Bob Lamson wouldn’t have thought to pass on, because they’re specific to being a female cop surviving in a very testosterone imbued environment. Bob’s a good man, but he’s got blinders of a sort to the cops that aren’t as good natured as he is.

Pressuring some college girl into sex seems to fit exactly into that line of behavior, and the fact that Gorman trailed the girl to Rick’s place makes her even more wary. With any luck, Gorman will back off from another cop’s girlfriend, but she needs to keep a close eye on it. Beth Greene is too damned sweet to get caught up in that slimeball bastard’s web.

Gorman needs to go. She just isn’t sure how in the hell to manage it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early posting thank you for a whole lot of beta reading inkribbon has been doing. 😉. She talked me out of a Carol/Lori today, I kid you not. My mind is a very Alice in Wonderland place sometimes...
> 
> I really need to take this story out of the rotation list, as it will show up randomly and more often compared to the others.
> 
> Beth's role expanded from a small one to pretty much being a third main character. There's a pairing (*points upward*) which is primarily as a reminder this isn't Rickyl or any common pairing for Beth in canon or fanon. It won't even show up until last chapter (and might not be set in stone, other than rare pair for sure).
> 
> A hint on Beth's role:  
> Sing with us...secret agent Beth, secret agent Beth... (Umm, I think that's plagiarizing a TV show theme song, oops!)


	4. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl approaches Rick for help as Gorman's ambitions grow, so he has to convince Amanda of the advantages of working together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homophobic language warning: Gorman makes slurs toward Amanda, and she thinks about problems with him in the past along the same lines.

Rick is in the middle of cooking supper when Carl gets home in a whirlwind of chatter and clutter. He's laughing even as he realizes the door didn't close behind Carl, which is unusual. One of the security features is that it can't stand open. Setting aside the wok spatula, he cuts the burner off, since the food's ready.

The reason the door is stuck open is Daryl Dixon, because he's waiting on one of the building staff coming this way with a delivery cart. When he sees Rick, he shrugs, even as Naomi hides her face against her father's shoulder. "They went into the staff elevator as we were coming up. Recognized Carl's school uniforms."

Rick thanks him, accepting the dry cleaning and the two packages when the employee reaches the door. Signing for delivery and ticking the box for the tip, he steps back into the apartment as Daryl follows with Naomi. By the time he's back from hanging up his part of the dry cleaning, Carl's at the counter, collecting both packages and his uniforms while telling Daryl about the electronic components for his latest project.

Next to the gas cooktop, there's a bottle of the cream bourbon Rick sampled his first night at the bar. Arching a brow at Daryl, who's taken a seat at the breakfast bar and is peering into the wok, Rick fiddles with the bourbon bottle. Naomi toddles after Carl the second he goes to take his things to his room. 

"Smells good. More of your healthy food?" Daryl asks.

"Considering how much I've eaten at Merle's bar lately, gotta balance it out somehow. You and Naomi want some?" Visiting the bar has been every other night or so when Beth works, with him not going tonight because Carl's back home. Rick goes to pull bowls from the cabinet, pausing to see if he needs four and not two.

He's surprised when it's not an immediate no, Daryl even taking the wok spatula and nudging the contents of the wok. "Sure. Need to talk to you about something, and Lori's got some sort of planning meeting tonight."

Chuckling, Rick sets the bowls on the counter. "Trying to decide if it's worth eating?"

"Nah, man. Smells good, and I'm not picky even if some of your damn tofu was in there. But Naomi? She's not as adventurous right now."

"I remember that stage. Carl wanted to live on fish sticks." Rick pauses before he dishes up the last bowl. "If she's not going to eat it, I can fix something else."

"She's stuck on noodles. She'll eat anything with those." 

"You know these aren't actual pasta, right?" Rick motions to the zucchini on the other counter. "Spiralized some of those. And it's spicy."

"Looks like noodles. She'll eat it." Daryl grins. "Girl ate a damn jalapeno whole yesterday. Snagged it right out of her mama's veggie basket from the garden and ate it like she had a hold of a candy bar. Spicy is just fine."

Whatever Daryl needs to speak to him about isn't something he wants to bring up in front of the kids, so supper is leisurely on the balcony. Naomi devours the food quickly enough that Daryl mutters about buying his own spiralizer gadget. Rick just laughs and sends Lori a link to the recipe from his phone.

"Hey, Carl? You mind taking your sister inside? Need to talk to your dad without little ears." Daryl asks as soon as the food is done.

Carl nods, even gathering up everyone's dishes with Naomi 'helping' by carrying her own bowl. Rick watches them head to the sink, Carl obviously chatting to the toddler, before turning back to Daryl. "If this is about the new baby, Lori told me when I dropped off Carl last Friday."

"Ain't gonna live down yelling at you I wasn't only marrying Lori 'cause she was pregnant with Naomi, am I?"

Not either of their finest hours, back when Rick really didn't understand exactly how well rough around the edges Daryl fit with Lori's more finicky personality. Rick smiles, leaning back in his chair. "Not likely. But if not the baby, is it Carl? How'd the first week of school go?"

"Kid's been looking a bit like a deer in headlights from how different it is, but his mama says he'll adjust." Daryl takes a drink from his glass, glancing out at the view of the skyline. "Merle needs some help."

That gets Rick's full attention. Considering how often Rick sees Merle these days, he can't imagine why the man wouldn't just ask directly. Thinking about the behavior he's seen Gorman exhibit during his nights at the bar, Rick straightens in his seat. "Is this about that bastard that's been stalking Beth?"

The girl's slept in Rick's den every night this week, even the ones she didn't work. Hell, Rick's been trying to figure out how to keep that up without pissing Carl off. His son will never believe Beth's only sleeping in the den. Rick hasn't slept with anyone in over six months, but it hasn't eased Carl's suspicions on the subject.

Talking to Shane has them both on alert, collecting information, and trying to decide their next move on the unsavory cop. But they're just watching for now, trying to figure out what the man has planned, considering he's ballsy enough to stalk another cop.

Daryl sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, looking as worried as Rick's ever seen him. "Yeah. 'Cept the man's more than just a pervert. He's trying to blackmail Merle into participating in his little criminal enterprise he's got running."

"Goddammit." Rick is on his feet, pacing. Merle's history makes him a soft target for a corrupt cop. It pisses Rick off, because he can't stand that sort of thing being used against someone who really did rehabilitate himself after prison. "Why didn't Merle come straight to me?"

"Because we think our sister's already tracking these cops, and Merle says she's doing it alone. She's there tonight, and I said I would try to talk to you while he keeps an eye out on Mandy."

Rick stops in his pacing, leaning against the balcony wall and groaning. "Please tell me you're not asking me to work with Amanda Shepherd."

The grim smile on Daryl's face tells him all he needs to know, and that Daryl probably already knows Amanda's low opinion of him. Rick runs a hand through his hair. "Alright. Tell me what you know, and then you gotta do me a favor in return."

"Anything, man. Asshole is messing with my family."

"Convince your sister to meet with me." Feeling like his weekend off duty just got far more complicated than he expected, Rick takes a seat and listens as Daryl begins to speak.

~*~*~*~*~

Amanda is so fucking angry that pissed doesn't even begin to describe it. Merle looking the other way about Beth and her sugar daddy is one thing. His moral compass has never quite pointed north. But now Daryl? What in the hell is up with her asshole brothers?

But it's almost eleven, and she hasn't even asked the girl yet. When she closes her book with a thump, it startles Beth where she's clearing a table nearby. The blonde looks her way, venturing a smile. "Need your check?"

Amanda nods and taps her fingers on the table while she waits, trying to settle the anger so she doesn't take it out on Beth. By the time her check arrives, she's centered again, sliding her credit card into the holder. "Hey, Beth? Want a ride home? No boyfriend tonight."

The girl blinks at her, looking surprised. "I'm fine taking the bus. He's spending the evening with his son."

Making this cheerful young woman his dirty little secret. Rick hasn't changed, like Lori claimed he was trying to do, just gotten better at hiding his girls. "It's near my apartment anyway. No sense in a long bus ride when you can go right there."

Beth hesitates, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I was actually going by Rick's place tonight."

It's another exercise in self control not to growl, but Amanda manages a shrug. "Is that still on the way?" No sense revealing she knows where the man lives.

"Yeah, actually." Beth smiles brightly. "If it's no trouble, I would appreciate it. Your check is my last one, so I'm clocking out after."

After she heads off to finish up, Amanda tucks her book into her messenger bag. A shadow drops across the table, and it's far too large to be Beth. When she looks up, Gorman is looming over her, smirking. "Trying to score with the pretty bartender, Shepherd? Always wondered what your type was."

Amanda shrugs, giving him her iciest stare. She's been aware of the speculation for years by cops of Gorman's ilk that a woman like her can't be anything but a damned butch dyke. It keeps them from actually nosing into her personal life, so she has never argued it.

"Ain't no way you can compete with that pretty thing's sugar daddy. I've seen where he lives, and that place? Nothing someone as uptight as you about how real money is made can compete with that, not even even if you're the best cunt licker in the world."

Years of this sort of bullshit makes keeping her temper manageable, but barely. She gives him her best asshole smile, learned from years as a Dixon sister. "Her boyfriend is a cop, Gorman. We don't poach from cops, do we?"

The older sergeant steps back, assessing her and pursing his lips. "No, we do not. Good to know you have some loyalty to your own kind." As Beth passes by him with Amanda's credit card, he even gives the girl room rather than making her brush against him. Strutting off, he goes to the bar to presumably settle his own bill.

"I already clocked out. Just gotta drop off your signed slip and grab my bag from my locker."

Amanda nods, doing her best not to react to Gorman's open staring when she and Beth leave the bar. Just as he's done every night, Gorman follows in his flashy truck, proving it's Beth and not Rick he's stalking. Sighing, Amanda abandons her plan to insist on taking the girl to her dorm. She's safer with the innocent midlife crisis idiot versus the creep following them.

The first inkling that there's even more going on than Daryl asking her to give Beth a ride is seeing her brother leaning against the tailgate of his work truck in the parking spot assigned to Rick's apartment. He points to the one beside it and waits as Beth slips away to the elevators, pulling out an access pass and letting it whisk her away.

"Mandy? We gotta talk."

~*~*~*~*~

Rick never expected to have help explaining to Carl the fact that Beth is all but living with him at the moment. But Daryl not only agreed to help get Amanda here, he even talked with Carl. So he's in the clear with his son for once, although it's definitely an odd feeling to be babysitting a sleeping Naomi Dixon while Daryl tries to convince his sister that Rick isn't sleeping with Beth Greene.

Carl's in his room, talking on the phone to Sophia. Apparently part of his project is something she's interested in. It isn't a school night, and Sophia's a freshman in college, so Rick is just content not to have his son outraged by the fact that there's a twenty one year old girl using the shower in Rick's bathroom.

When his door opens to admit a not very happy Amanda trailed by Daryl, he braces himself. She's here, so something Daryl said got through, but she does not look happy about it. Daryl just looks stoic, calling out a goodbye to Carl before gathering his daughter up from the couch.

"I'll email you that proposal," Daryl tells him, letting Naomi loll against his shoulder. "Get the work done in an afternoon."

Rick nods, standing up and following Daryl to the door to buy time not to deal with Amanda just yet. In the hall, the other man turns and looks back. "Did my best, man. You gotta close the deal, though."

Rick just smiles. "Might need to wish me luck. Drive safe."

The elevator arrives, and Daryl gives him a thumbs up as he steps inside. Rick locks the door after closing it and turns to face the music. Amanda is holding the bottle of bourbon, turning it in her hands.

"You want a drink?" Rick asks, not sure how to even start.

"Where's Beth?" Amanda asks instead of replying to his question.

"Shower. She says she always smells like alcohol and hamburgers after a shift." Rick pulls a beer out of the fridge and offers it to her, a little surprised when she accepts it. Getting out another, he motions to the balcony. No sense in this conversation being overheard by Beth or Carl.

"What's Daryl sending you a proposal on?" Amanda asks as they step out onto the main balcony. There are two smaller ones for each bedroom, but neither are as impressive as the one off the living room, which is more terrace than balcony. It doesn't seem that she wants to start this conversation either.

"Landscaping. He's apparently offended by the building's efforts at such." Motioning to the planters, Rick leans against the railing and sips his beer.

Amanda runs her fingers through the leaves of some evergreen plant. "Invasive species, actually. He'll definitely want these gone. Says it's as bad as kudzu."

Taking a deep breath, Rick finally broaches the subject. "We've got a common enemy. I think we need to start over."

"I have it under control. Daryl had no right to bring in a partner for me, especially an outsider. I don't need an arrogant rich boy playing at being a cop helping me."

"Thing is, there's a reason no one goes undercover without support. And as judgmental as you are about me, making up your mind without seeing beyond your first impression, how are you going to manage something alone that requires so much personality analysis just to stay safe?"

"There's no one I trust in my precinct." It sounds so bitter, and Rick can't imagine being that uncertain of the cops you work with.

"Go higher. Internal Affairs."

She scoffs, downing enough of the beer to leave him torn between impressed and concerned. "I don't have enough evidence to risk going to IA. And I don't need the help of some deputy who's been rotting in rural Georgia all his career."

It's not the first time Rick's heard slander like that. The big city cops usually do think that the volume of crime they face trumps the experience of rural officers. The earlier jab about his family money isn't new either. He just smiles slowly. "I'm already on their radar, Shepherd, if you hadn't noticed. And I have an advantage you don't."

"Money?" She waves her bottle at their surroundings. "I've got news for you, Grimes, money is not the solution to everything. Money is not going to fix this shit for me, or protect my brother from these bastards."

Rick laughs, but there's no actual amusement in it. "Oh, I'm sure it'll be a big help in this, but no, that's not it. My best friend happens to head up the department that oversees Internal Affairs for our county."

As the penny drops, he takes a slow drink from his beer, staring at her over the bottle. Her eyes widen, as she clunks her empty bottle on the table. She's on board now, he thinks, but he sweets the deal.

"We make this an official investigation? Shane can bring Merle into the investigation as an informant. Beth, too, since he doesn't seem to be letting up there." Rick moves to set his own bottle down, gripping the edge of the wrought iron table with both hands and staring at her. "And our county has no agreements about not working inside the city limits of Atlanta."

She stops shaking her head, eyes intent on his. He notices for the first time that they're some shade of green he can't determine in the dimmer outdoor lighting. "You're going to get me killed." But she smiles, belying the severity of her words.

"I promise you that won't happen." Reaching across the table, he offers his hand, smiling as she shakes it. "Partners?"

Giving his hand one last squeeze, she nods. "Partners."

~*~*~*~*~

When planning goes into the early hours of Saturday morning, Amanda's stomach rumbles embarrassingly loud. Glancing inside, she sees that Beth is still up, too, but no longer curled on the comfortable looking couch with a textbook and her laptop. Clad in an oversized Georgia Tech shirt as a nightshirt that brushes mid-thigh, the blonde is rummaging in the oversized, stainless steel fridge. Amanda scowls at the amount of bare skin on display, letting it fade after glancing to Rick and seeing all his attention is on the notes he's been taking.

Rick seems to sense her attention and looks up and smiles tiredly. "You're welcome to raid the fridge. There's plenty in there."

Normally, she would refuse, but giving in to hunger means a chance to talk to Beth, too. Just because Daryl believes one thing, doesn't make it true. She heads inside, with Rick following, but he disappears down the hallway. "Anything good in there?"

Beth grins. "Depends. You like Thai drunken noodles with spicy honey chicken?"

"I can't say I've ever tried it."

Scooping a serving into a bowl from a labeled Tupperware bowl, Beth swaps the bowl into the microwave and sets her own steaming hot bowl at a spot on the breakfast bar. She seals the Tupperware and returns it to the fridge. "I had a bowl earlier, while y'all were first talking. It's worth the second round."

The blonde moves around the kitchen with ease, obviously knowing where everything is. Setting a second glass next to hers, she fills both with iced tea from a pitcher instead of a store bought jug. Amanda perches on a stool, a little bemused, as Beth brings everything to their seats. 

"Fork or chopsticks?" 

"Fork, I guess." Chopsticks have never really interested her, and fiddling with them with an audience definitely doesn't. Beth hands her a fork and digs into her own bowl with chopsticks and a happy noise. The chopsticks aren't the disposable kind delivered with takeout, but a pretty carved set with some sort of bird pattern.

The food is really good, and she considers asking where it's from after a bite or two. The whole area is full of smaller, quirky restaurants, mostly on the ground floors of high rise buildings. It's enough to distract her from talking while she eats, and she actually begins to wonder where Rick is when he doesn't reappear before she's done. "You're staying here full time now?"

"Yep. Shane advised Rick it would be a good idea. I wasn't complaining, because seriously? Sharing a single dorm room sounds nice for the financial end, but in reality? That's too many girls in one space."

"And here?" It is hard to picture Rick just opening his own home to Beth, who he didn't even know before Merle asked this favor of him. She knows Merle feels he owes the Greenes a debt for how they helped Carol after she and Sophia escaped life with Ed. If she was staying there, or even with Daryl and Lori, that would make so much more sense.

"Can't speak for weeks that Carl is home, but this one's been mighty quiet. I'm not even sure Rick watches TV."

Based on the number of well-filled bookshelves Amanda sees just in the main area of the apartment, she suspects reading is Rick's habit of choice. The books aren't cheap paperbacks, either. "I suppose it's like a vacation of sorts for you then?"

Beth nods, taking their dishes to the sink and giving them a quick wash. She yawns and looks at the clock on the microwave. "I think I'm stopping the studying for the night. There's an episode of Supernatural calling my name."

"When do you sleep?" Amanda asks, because it really is late, and the girl's had classes all day, plus a work shift. She vaguely remembers all nighters from her time in college, but she doesn't enjoy them anymore.

"It's Friday night. Can't go out with my friends, but I can find other guilty pleasures, right?" With a cheeky grin, Beth gathers up her laptop and book and heads down the hallway Rick did, making Amanda frown. All of the apartments in this building are only two bedroom units. She remembers that from that long ago official business visit. Where is Beth sleeping? She knows Carl's room is on the other side of the living area.

Rick returns once Beth disappears, still toweling his hair dry after a shower. He's dressed in soft pajama pants and a faded black t-shirt, feet bare on the hardwood floors. It makes him look younger, somehow. "Beth get you squared away?"

Amanda nods, watching as he heads for the fridge and fills a glass from the water dispenser. The whole kitchen probably costs as much as her car, and that's just the appliances. The place still makes her uneasy, but she agreed to try to ignore what she sees as the excess in his life. 

"I think we've got enough to get Shane started. I'll go see him tomorrow at home, take Carl for a visit. We're over there enough no one will think much of it if Gorman does get froggy and follow me. Can you meet me back here in the evening?"

"Sure." It's not like she wants him in her apartment, and she's less likely to be noticed here than him and that damned yellow car at her place. "What time?"

"We should be back by six. Just text me, and I'll come let you up."

"I'll see you then." Amanda slides off the stool, watching for a moment as Rick heads to his son's room, slipping the headphones off Carl's head and settling the snoring teen to sleep correctly in bed. Combined with the memory of the man relaxed on the couch with tiny Naomi sleeping next to him, it makes something shift in her stomach.

When he returns, she gets a tired smile even as he leads her to the foyer. "Elevator doesn't need anything special to leave, just to come up."

After their farewells, while she's waiting on the elevator, she stares back at the apartment door and thinks of just how different their lives are. Any tingles she's getting over seeing that man with children can just go the hell away. They're partners, and she's not even entirely sold on that being a good idea.

But that bastard Gorman is making this personal, trying to mess up Merle's life. The look on Daryl's face today in the parking garage? That fear that they might lose Merle back into the system he fought so hard to be clear of? Gorman's hurting both her brothers, and his days are numbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth was only supposed to kick things off...then she made herself at home and stayed. 😉


	5. Boots Off, Deputy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with Shane brings up some of the realities about going after Gorman, but the man escalates Rick and Amanda's plans and makes them adapt quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting the scene, again, but not as innocent as Beth did. 😉

Amanda parks in front of a place out in the county she's not sure she could afford if she saved up her entire life. It's not that the house is modern or expensive, because it's actually a smaller red brick ranch probably built in the seventies. It's the acreage surrounding it, neatly enclosed with the white wooden fencing common to horse farms. How much land, she doesn't know, but there certainly aren't any close neighbors, and she sees a good sized shop building and barn.

Rick's out of his Mustang, greeting a huge shepherd type dog that seems to know him well. He smiles over at Amanda as he pets the dog, Beth hovering behind him, looking sleepy. "This is Athena. She's a retired King County officer."

Amanda nods. "He had a K9 partner?"

"It's why we split up our partnership. He went into the K9 unit, while I went into investigations."

The dog turns, and Amanda sees why she's retired finally. Her right eye is gone, and her face scarred. Athena takes note of the newcomer to her territory, but trots off as a door opens. The big deputy Amanda remembers from the newscast and Daryl's wedding steps out onto the porch and calls out a greeting.

As they head inside, Shane introduces himself, leading them to a big south facing sunroom. "Gotta mix business with dad life this morning. Chonne caught a case and had to run into the city."

"Is she a cop?" Amanda asks, looking around the room. It's as large as some studio apartments, set up with lots of plants and a cute table and chairs that Shane appears to be using as a desk today. There's paperwork set out from a small portable printer next to a laptop.

"No." The grin from the other deputy warns her his reply is going to be something unique. "She's a defense attorney."

That explains the house and land, probably, but she doesn't even want to know how that works. It seems to amuse Shane as he invites them to take a seat. Outside, Amanda can see a boy, probably her niece Ruby's age, playing fetch with a small, weird looking dog. Athena lays in a shady spot, watching them both. It explains the workspace, she supposes, to keep an eye on his son.

Shane slides paperwork toward each of them. "Full standard paperwork. I've got similar for Merle, but he's meeting with me tomorrow. Taking a family trip out to the state park."

The cover makes sense, but Amanda cuts her gaze to Beth. "Are we sure she has to be involved?"

"She's not at risk like Merle, but odds are high that she may pick up information. Having someone with more movement in the bar than Merle has is valuable."

"Most importantly, I agreed to it. Girls shouldn't have to hide from cops like that." Beth hands her paperwork to Shane. 

The man looks it over and nods, adding his own signature and putting it in a folder. "Mind stepping out for a bit, Beth?"

The girl stands. "Sure. What's your son's name?"

"Andre. And the mini mutt's name is Izzy." As soon as the door closes behind Beth, Shane leans back in his chair. "After we talked last night, the Sheriff and I had a very long conversation. We're putting another girl in. She's not part of what you two will be doing. But y'all can't be with Beth around the clock. So Tara will."

"Another deputy?" Rick frowns. "Isn't that a risk she'll be recognized?"

"New transfer from Virginia. She's enrolled at Tech, either in the same classes as Beth or those in adjacent classrooms. She's gonna befriend Beth and be her ride to work. Won't work Gorman himself, but she goes in. Sheriff's orders."

Amanda actually relaxes a bit at the idea there's someone else watching Beth's back, even if the other cop is an unknown. The rest of the requirements laid out aren't complicated, since they're just starting the plan. As they're finishing up, Shane hands Amanda a business card for an insurance agency. The man's current intensity isn't the smiling political cop from the news or the jovial buddy who greeted them as Rick's best friend. She thinks this is the real cop, the man Rick trusted at his back for a decade.

"Keep it on you or memorize the number. If you can't get through to Rick, that's how you reach me instead. Neither of you have done this sort of thing before, and you're using your personal lives more than you should. It will get uglier than you think it will, especially going after another cop. Things you'll need to overlook or even experience? Training classes can't prepare you for those."

"Shane? How much of a risk is this to Carl?" Rick asks, and Amanda hisses at the thought. "Maybe he should stay with his mother a while."

"Keep it in mind as a backup plan, but Carl's rarely alone. Kid doesn't have his own car and doesn't take the bus. That penthouse of yours is a special level of secure. You know I checked it myself." Shane leans over, intent on Rick. "If families go on this guy's radar? Carl's already there. Best thing we can do is make sure he goes down and goes down hard."

Amanda stiffens, but Shane is right. She's insulated from immediately being known as related to Merle, but Carl's his nephew and Sophia's best friend. Even without Rick coming into the picture, Carl would be known to Gorman.

"That's part of how you sold it to your sheriff, isn't it?" she muses, drawing that intense gaze back her way, along with Rick's. "Gorman's putting a deputy's family in danger."

"It was a factor." Shane levels his gaze at Rick. "Would have gone off the books if I had to."

"Shane," Rick says, voice going a little hoarse with a warning note, and Amanda isn't sure what emotion is at play, but Shane seems aware.

"Not an ambition in this world more important than family, brother, you know that."

It's a sentiment Amanda can heartily agree with. All the work she's put in to get to where she is? None of that matters if her family needs her.

A rumbling sound alerts them all to the garage door opening, and Shane tidies all the paperwork away into a lockbox. By the time he's done, a statuesque, dark skinned woman appears in the doorway of the sunroom. She's dressed in an elegant suit, coming to press a kiss to Rick's cheek as they all stand, before wrapping her arms around Shane's waist and sighing contentedly after a brush of their lips.

"Fought the good fight already?" Shane drawls.

"Negotiated a plea deal for court on Monday. Sadly, just easy money for getting a spoiled kid probation and community service." She eases away from Shane to offer Amanda her hand, but Amanda doesn't need any introduction as she shakes. 

"Michonne Hawthorne. You aren't a popular lady in my precinct." She makes sure to smile to take the sting out of the words. Defense attorney with a cop is one thing, but Michonne? She's the terror of every cop and detective in the Atlanta Police Department. Amanda just didn't make the connection earlier, with Shane using a diminutive of her name.

Luckily, Michonne just laughs, stepping back close to Shane. "We're all cogs in the same great legal machine. If making a few sloppy cops wet themselves makes the machine run correctly, then I've done my job."

Andre cuts off anything further, coming through the back door with a happy greeting to his mother and a cheerful, enthusiastic hug for 'Uncle Rick'. Beth and the two dogs follow, and the girl glances at her watch. "Rick? I need to be back on campus by lunch to meet my sister."

That leads to farewells, with Amanda driving away before Rick and Beth, deciding she might manage some laundry at home before meeting Rick at his apartment to do some in depth planning about what they do next. Shane's warning about them stepping into an area of police work neither are really prepared for makes her nervous. They've both got too much riding on this to get anything wrong.

~*~*~*~*~

Rick debates just ordering for food to be delivered when Amanda's reply to his text about food is that she's not picky. Instead, since Carl's gone to the movies with friends, he heads downstairs to the market connected to his building and snags some fresh salmon, which his son detests no matter how he cooks it. By the time Amanda arrives, there's plates of sweet chili salmon with rice and grilled asparagus in the warming drawer.

She settles at the breakfast bar to eat, taking the beer he offers almost absently. He leaves her to her thoughts, finishing off his own food as fast as she does. Tidying away the dishes into the dishwasher and setting the timer for it to run later, he leans against the counter and studies her.

"Having second thoughts?" he asks. Shane's advice earlier has them both rattled, he thinks.

"Second and third, but it doesn't matter. We have to do something before Gorman's out of control. There's no way he'll stop. But your friend? He seems pretty confident it's going to be rough. Didn't think y'all did a lot of this kind of thing down in King County."

"Our county didn't, but Shane got loaned out now and then to other departments when they needed a fresh face for something. Even the feds a time or two. He always discouraged me from volunteering, and I don't think it was all because I'm not as good an actor as he is." Rick shrugs and sighs. "Getting back to normal took him a bit sometimes."

Rick strongly suspects that Shane's background of growing up poor combined with his size sent him into situations as muscle or worse, especially if drugs were involved. Sometimes Rick had the feeling Shane aimed for his initial promotions to become too visible for that sort of work to be viable.

"I'm not sure we're going to know normal for a while." Amanda sounds dour, but her expression shifts to curiosity. "How the hell does that work? Him and Michonne Hawthorne of all people?"

"Honestly? I can't speak for the professional, but personally, she's good for him. I've known him since we were toddlers, and he was this perpetual bachelor, never spending more than a couple of weeks in a relationship. But then he met her and Andre, and it was like he hit a brick wall. His old life just stopped being enough for him." 

Rick envies Shane that, sometimes. Even in the earliest days of his marriage, he never felt as certain about anything as Shane does about Michonne and their son. It's life's own irony that his divorce led to Shane settling down.

"Oh. Andre isn't his son?"

"Biologically? No. But he adopted him last year, even though he and Michonne aren't married yet. He said he never wants Andre to doubt his commitment to him, separate from his relationship to Michonne."

She mulls that over, making him remember she's adopted, too. Her family is full of complex additions, with Carl and Sophia, so he imagines she understands Shane even better than Rick.

"We should probably get started," she says at last, but before they can get to work, the intercom to the concierge desk buzzes.

Rick frowns as he presses the button. He's not expecting visitors or deliveries. The news isn't pleasant.

"There's a Sergeant Gorman with the Atlanta Police Department here to see you, Lieutenant Grimes." The man's voice emphasizes Rick's police rank in a way that tells him Gorman's probably irritated the staffer.

Exchanging an alarmed look with Amanda, Rick thinks fast. "Can you make it take ten minutes to get him up here?"

"Certainly, sir. I'll need to find someone to take over the desk for me to escort your guest upstairs." Rick thinks that the man would be smirking if he wasn't likely facing Gorman. He'll have to tip him well.

As soon as the intercom isn't active, he turns to Amanda. "While ducking out of sight is an option, it's possible he knows you're here. How do you want to explain it?"

"I'm parked in the spot for your apartment. He wouldn't know that, unless he knows exactly which one you live in, but I'll bet he used his badge to park in the garage and might have seen it. Once he's up here, he could figure it out." Amanda thinks it over quickly. "Beth and Carl are both out. Gorman will go for the gutter easier than he'll believe anything else, especially after the spat we had at the bar."

"The gutter?" Oh, shit. Rick blinks. "You mean like Beth, because I told you that you needed to get laid?"

"Yeah. But I'm not Beth. I'm not fawning all over you like you're the last man on earth."

Sighing, Rick reaches for the buttons of his shirt, untucking it from his pants when he's done. "Beth did say it was about setting the scene."

When he looks up, Amanda's t-shirt is gone. Her bra is surprisingly feminine, a lacy blue satin one that accentuates her small breasts. She catches him staring and frowns. "Don't get excited, Grimes. They're just breasts."

Flushing, Rick looks away and runs his hands through his curls, knowing it takes very little to make his hair look like he's been up to something amorous. He snags their beer bottles and heads for the couch, setting both on the coffee table. He shrugs off his button up, letting it fall to the couch.

"Undershirt, too. Anyone making out with you is going to want you shirtless." Amanda's crisp command has him looking over at her almost worried at what he'll see. Her cheeks are flushed, and he absently complies, thinking she looks embarrassed, not aroused. Is it the situation, or her comment about his chest? 

"Dammit, you don't look like you've been kissed at all," she mutters. 

Rick registers what she said even as Amanda's moving toward him. Being kissed by her is initially as confusing as when Beth did it. Unlike Beth, she doesn't keep a polite distance with the rest of her body. Soft curves press against him, and he finally responds and kisses her back.

Amanda tastes of spice and faintly of the beer she's been sipping, and all of the playful kisses he's shared with Beth at the bar are nothing on this. The combination of silky soft bare skin and satin fabric against his chest makes him groan into the kiss. His body does not have the memo that this isn't real.

When he reaches up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her bra, she doesn't jerk away. It incites her to end their kiss, though, mouth finding his collarbone. He feels the distinct nip of teeth in his skin, even as he backs her to the couch. Twisting them so that he's the one sitting, she climbs astride his lap, still keeping control.

Resting against the evidence of his arousal, there's no hiding this isn't anything like the innocent false seduction Beth set up. They're crossing a line, and he doesn't care, not right now. Regret can come later. He grabs her hips and rocks their bodies together.

"You feel too damn good," he mutters, arching his neck when she goes back to that spot on his collarbone. She's marking him in a place damned difficult to hide.

Amanda groans as she raises her head up, running her hands through his hair and pressing his face to her chest. He mouths at her through the satin, making her curse. In retaliation, she goes for his belt buckle, tugging the belt free and unfastening his jeans. Having her hands so tantalizingly close to the part of him not listening about setting the scene and the clock ticking is torture.

Her hair is too neat and pristine, so he slides his hands up her bare back to steal away her hair tie. It might be a miscalculation on his part. With her hair tidied away in the sleek ponytail, she's a pretty woman, but usually seems unapproachable to him. Once he's got it scattered around her bare shoulders, she's beautiful, looking relaxed in a way he's never seen her. Her hands stroke his chest, fingers sliding through his chest hair and making him want more, even as she traces a path to his stomach.

Reaching for the clasp of her bra, he unhooks it without Amanda objecting. Instead, her fingers edge into the opening of his jeans even as he frees her from her bra and lowers his head again. This time, there's no satin barrier between him and his prize.

She curses, calls out his name, and scrabbles at his jeans, but they're too tight and their position keeps her from claiming what she's seeking. Giving up, she tangles her fingers in his hair and makes sure he pays equal attention to both breasts. When she grinds down against him, it's pain and pleasure both, trapped in his jeans the way he is. Neither of them are playing now, and he desperately wants the layers of clothing between them gone.

"Amanda," he says hoarsely. It's a plea and a warning both.

She stops the rocking movement against him, expression going cool and distant as she arches a brow. "So little control." It's said as if she's doing any better. Her pupils are blown wide, only a thin rim of green showing. But she slides off his lap, and goddammit, he regrets anything that put a stop to the best he's felt with a woman in ages.

"Boots off, deputy, or do you fuck with those on?" The cold bitchiness in the words dials back his arousal enough he feels a tendril of anger slip through the sexual frustration. It's why he deliberately stares as she sheds her bra the rest of the way into a heap on the floor by the couch. 

When she notices him staring, she flushes, one arm going to cover her breasts as if he hasn't already tasted them. Satisfied that she's as uncomfortable as he is, he reaches for his boots. By the time he gets them off, dropping his socks beside them, the doorbell buzzes. Eyeing his pants, he debates rezipping them, but decides Gorman deserves an eyeful. Turning to Amanda, his mouth runs dry.

While he was distracted by his boots, she'd stripped down to her panties. As he watches, she slides his button up shirt on. It covers her just enough to hide the blue satin that matches her bra. Cursing Gorman's existence, Rick goes to answer the door.


	6. That's Real Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's conversation with Gorman causes problems with his partnership with Amanda that make Beth try to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorman and dealing with Gorman warning for the first half...

As Rick speaks to Gorman and his escort in the foyer, Amanda studiously ignores the man. Finding her hair tie where Rick dropped it, she tugs her hair back into a messy ponytail. The door closes, but she doesn't have to turn to know Gorman's inside the apartment. His particular brand of slimeball stare is one she can practically feel.

"Well, this is not who I expected to find, Lieutenant Grimes. Where's your pretty little blonde?"

Rick shrugs, catching the undershirt she throws him and slipping it on. It's a tank top style shirt, so the mark of her teeth is luridly vivid on his pale skin. He makes a point of fastening his jeans, the jingling of his belt buckle obvious even as Gorman stares at Amanda as she meets his gaze with every bit of the icy stare she's practiced for years.

"Beth was otherwise occupied tonight. Sister's in town, so they're off having a girl's night." 

"Looks like you found an interesting consolation prize." Gorman's glancing between them, and she knows there's no way he missed sex had definitely been in progress between them. She resists the urge to cover her chest, because the thin fabric of Rick's shirt gives away her lack of a bra. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of the gesture she made with Rick earlier, she juts out her chin and lets the Ice Queen bleed away the remnants of ache still lingering within her.

They got carried away, so Amanda isn't sure how they're actually going to explain this. Kissing Rick wasn't supposed to turn serious. He's not her type, and she sure as hell isn't his. Her body didn't seem to agree. If Rick hadn't said her name when he did, the way he did? He would be a lot more acquainted with her body than he is.

"I think she's trying to convince me college girls aren't my thing. But I don't think you came all the way here just to discuss my sex life, Gorman."

The sergeant smirks after scanning Amanda's shirt clad figure and dismissing her as uninteresting. "No, I didn't. I certainly didn't expect to be personally escorted to the penthouse floor. This is an interesting place for a cop's salary. Interesting indeed."

It takes all Amanda's self control not to react to the fact they're not even having to bait the greedy bastard. Rick assured her last night that his family's money isn't easily traced as the source of his extra cash. Everything is in his mother's family name, much of it paid out through a trust where an attorney does the day to day management. What is exposed now is deliberately so, thanks to Shane's special intervention. But is it Rick or Beth that Gorman's after now?

"I like my creature comforts," Rick replies, eyeing Amanda and drawing Gorman's attention back to her from where he's been studying the big open floor plan living and kitchen area. Everything outside of the kitchen isn't as high end as it could be, actually an almost comfortably lived in feel for such a lofty setting.

"So I see. I needed to speak to you about something, but not with an audience."

Rick indicates the main balcony. "We can step outside. Amanda was just heading to the bedroom anyway."

She doesn't know him well enough to understand exactly what he's telling her, but she rolls her eyes at the dismissal and nods. "Maybe I'll go test out that jacuzzi of yours."

But she doesn't go straight to the bedroom, strolling to the fridge and fetching herself another of the beers they had with supper. As she heads down the hall with her clothes draped over her arm, she hears Rick offer Gorman a drink, and there's the clinking of glasses. They're bypassing the beer for something from that nice liquor cabinet.

She drops her clothes on the storage bench at the end of the king size bed. The bookcase headboard is actually being used as a bookcase. Before she can actually go see which books get placed there, her phone buzzes. Checking the text, she sees "Balcony door".

It's almost enough to make her laugh at Rick's quick thinking. Unlocking the sliding glass door, she can hear voices already. Those plants that Daryl hates so much mean that Rick's bedroom balcony can't be seen at all from the main one. She eases out onto the balcony, taking a seat on the little cushioned outdoor settee positioned closest to the main balcony.

She hears Gorman's voice first. "Got the boy well trained, checking in by text like that."

"Only way to keep him on track. He's meant for more than being a Georgia cop." There's a clink of glass to metal table. "Don't want him ending up in a shotgun wedding before he's managed that."

"Texting won't stop that."

"No, but he's heard the lecture enough by now that he knows why. He won't have to give up MIT."

Gorman laughs, obviously amused. "MIT is an expensive school for a cop's kid. Tuition has got to be double what Tech's is."

"Try four times. Fifty grand a year just for tuition. Another twenty for the rest of his expenses. Same as Harvard or Yale."

Jesus Christ, that's a lot of money. Amanda's been aware of Carl's ambition for college for a while, but she hadn't realized the tuition was the same as a starting Atlanta officer's yearly salary. Hell, she's only making about ten grand more than that with her new promotion, less than the total yearly cost.

"Mighty steep price for a police lieutenant to pay, even with your ex and her husband paying their share."

"That's one of the reasons he's at Silverleaf. Tuition is free for employees' children, and the school's got a good record for Ivy League acceptance and scholarships." Rick sounds so matter of fact, talking about sums of money most cops never consider. Then again, Amanda's sitting on a balcony of a penthouse that costs probably three grand a month. The man's never been in the same world as an average cop.

"Gonna be hard to maintain this sort of lifestyle." Gorman's voice takes on a sly tone, and Amanda realizes the conversation about Carl was leading to this. "Knew you lived in one of the most expensive buildings in Atlanta, but buddy, this is the goddamn penthouse, and not one of the smaller units. Add in the muscle car, pretty little blonde, and whatever the hell you're doing fucking around with Shepherd? You got tastes more expensive than even mine. Hell, this bourbon costs as much as my monthly truck payment would if it wasn't paid off."

Considering that damned King Ranch truck is a year old and costs as much as the tuition they were just discussing, Gorman's doing better for himself than Amanda suspected if it's paid for already. This is a bigger issue, not just skimming from dealers and hookers. Going after Merle was the first clue, but this? It confirms it.

"Perhaps." There's an indistinct sound she can't identify. "Seems like you had a reason other than my finances as a reason to show up here on a Friday night."

"Nah, Lieutenant, those are exactly why I'm here."

Glass drops onto the metal table hard enough to make Amanda wince. "And why exactly is that? Are you accusing me of something?" For not being experienced at anything undercover, Rick's voice is impressively offended and icy.

"Oh, I am. But not in the way Internal Affairs would. More of an opportunity to expand what you're already doing." Gorman sounds as slimy as she's ever heard him, but he's definitely trying to hook Rick into something.

"And what exactly do you think I'm doing?"

"Money laundering is such a clean term for something so very unclean, isn't it, Grimes?"

Amanda smiles broadly, glad that Shane's false paper trail seems to have been laid just in time. Whoever his tech is, the guy deserves a pat on the back. While all the money is actually Rick's, and as clean as anything from legal business can actually be, the paperwork Amanda saw today? Makes Rick look like he's been a dirty cop for a long, long time.

"Good luck proving that." The smug asshole tone Rick uses would do Gorman proud.

"I wouldn't want to. I'm here to offer you an opportunity for more, not to mess up the good thing you got going. I've got more cash coming in than I can safely keep off IA's radar anymore. Keeping cash around is painting a target on my back I don't like."

"Don't trust your compatriots or your business partners?"

"Would you? My source says you're just as cautious, Grimes. You don't want to know what getting what information I got on you cost me. Real estate is such an easy cover, and no one ever questions a cop getting lucky with land deals or investments since they fluctuate so wildly."

"I like to pay for loyalty, although now I have to figure out where the weak point is. What are you offering, Gorman, and why should I risk it? Being cautious is why I don't have IA looking at me."

Gorman lays out his request, a larger scale of what he was trying to press Merle into doing, sending illegal cash through legitimate businesses. Amanda prays the man sees only what he wants to see; what they want him to see: Rick's an intelligent, lazy womanizer who likes the good life and wants his son out of Georgia. It's a sickeningly easy sale to make the corrupt cop. Gorman expects men to be much like himself, if presented the right opportunities.

Rick's quiet for a while, but Gorman doesn't press the issue. Finally, she hears her partner sigh before speaking. "Suppose it could be spun as helping out a fellow cop. Offering him an investment opportunity."

That earns him approving laughter from Gorman. "It wouldn't even be a lie, now would it?" A chair scrapes against the concrete of the balcony. "I'll let you get back to your evening. We'll get the details worked out later."

"Sounds like a plan."

Amanda hears more movement and assumes both men are heading inside, so she rises herself. Before she makes it back into Rick's bedroom, Gorman speaks again, less distinct now that he's not at the patio table. 

"Yanno, I always thought Shepherd was a lesbian. Still not sure why you would bother, not with a sweet young blonde obviously hooked on you. Think that one might even stick around without your money."

Rick chuckles. "I'm sure she would. Beth's the sort of girl you take out for a test drive and see how you fit. Then when I marry her, she's damned grateful for it and wants to keep it. Pretty, delicate, sweet, and from a good family just well off enough to appreciate all this." The man sounds so damned fond of Beth that Amanda wonders if he realizes exactly how lovesick his tone is.

"So what's Shepherd then?"

"Woman like that? She's married to her career. Thinks growing up poor makes her special, because she's made her own way. Likes being a martyr. She's married to her job, and have you ever met a man who wanted to marry a female cop?" 

The assessment stings in an unexpected way. Rick isn't saying anything she hasn't heard before from the more conservative men on the force. No matter what role her erstwhile partner is playing, hearing that shit out his mouth makes her want to punch something.

"That make her a pity fuck?" Gorman seems to like the idea, and he better not get any ideas.

The door into the living room opens, but Amanda still catches Rick's reply. "All that uptight frustration? It's a thrill you can't imagine to hear her beg for it."

The something she wants to punch feels like Rick Grimes. If they hadn't just nearly fucked on his couch, maybe it wouldn't have such impact. But for all of his denial that there's anything between him and Beth, she can't help but notice they actually like each other. The cheerful engineering student is exactly what Rick says she is: delicate, beautiful, and of good breeding. Just like Rick himself. 

Like Lori wasn't.

Shaking off the thoughts quite literally, Amanda yanks open the door to head inside. What does it matter how someone like her compares to pretty Beth Greene? Nearly fucking Rick was an aberration of her normal behavior. Let Beth be the girlfriend, imaginary or otherwise. From now on, they're strictly partners.

~*~*~*~*~

Rick shuts the door after Gorman steps into the elevator and goes to sit on the couch, head in his hands. Speaking with the man makes him feel filthy, as if he needs a shower just from such close contact. Or a drink, although after sharing a drink out of the very expensive bottle of bourbon his mother gave him last Christmas with Gorman, maybe not. The man likes his liquor, to recognize that particular bottle versus the better known Pappy Van Winkle.

Playing to the man's obvious prejudices with so little time to plan was exhausting. He hears the clink of glass on the breakfast bar and sees Amanda setting a half full beer bottle down. She's dressed except for her shoes, which she's slipping on even as he watches.

"We need more information on what he's up to, especially if he's gaining more money than he can safely hide anymore," he tells her. He hasn't had a partner since Shane, but turning to one is second nature still, apparently.

That makes her finally look directly at him, and her expression is set in that icy, judgmental one he remembers from the first meeting in the parking garage. What the hell has set her off this time? What happened earlier was definitely more than either of them planned, but it shouldn't make her revert, should it?

"I'll take care of it." 

"That's not how this works, Amanda. If he's gotten into the cover story Shane laid in, it'll be his computer geek who can best find out the source." It would have been easy enough to just ask Shane without her, but she's his partner in this.

"I can handle it." If nothing else, she seems even further offended.

"Amanda…"

She interrupts him before he can really speak, voice cold. "I said I can handle it. I don't need you holding my hand. You aren't the first male cop to see me as married to my job, so let me do it."

"We're partners, and your gender doesn't have anything to do with me saying we need to get more information. There's no one or the other of us where this goes. We have to work together because neither of us needs to be in the dark if we have an option."

"We aren't partners by choice. Would you honestly choose a female partner if allowed to pick?"

Rick gapes at her for a minute, shocked that she's taking his words to Gorman so seriously. "I never chose a partner. First they left me with my training officer for a year since we didn't have any new rookies. Then he retired, and the Sheriff paired me with Shane. But I've trained other deputies, male and female, and neither was better or worse because of their gender." Hell, one of the investigators under his supervision is a woman he thinks will end up with his job in a few years when she's more experienced.

He frowns, remembering she's only recently promoted to a supervisory position. She's had a partner more recently than him. "Was your partner that kind of asshole?"

Anger flickers into her expression now. "My first partner was a good man. He took a lot of shit for staying my partner after training."

Ah. That might explain why Amanda didn't seek out the man's help. She didn't want to cause him any more grief with the assholes of the precinct. "And the second?"

"A kid who was so damned relieved I got promoted that he bought me a gift card to celebrate."

Rick considers saying that sounds like a bit of an asshole to him, but as prickly as Amanda is, the kid probably didn't mean it the way she took it. Judging it would be unfair, just like Amanda is judging him based on doing his damn job to lure Gorman in. "I'm not either of them," he says softly, hiding the sting that her distrust causes. "What we're doing is dangerous. We have to rely on each other."

Her expression doesn't soften, but once again, they're interrupted at a key point by someone coming to the door. This time it's Beth, using her access card to get into the apartment. The girl smiles brightly at them both, holding up a covered pie from a bakery.

"You'll never guess what I found, Rick. You said chess pie was your favorite, and I know you like raspberries, so voila! Lemon raspberry chess pie."

Rick clears his throat, taking a deep breath. Beth doesn't need to know there's problems between the two people responsible for solving the Gorman problem she has. "Sounds delicious."

The blonde sets the pie down on the counter. "Maggie had an emergency surgery come up, so she dropped me back at my dorm early. Want some tea?"

Rick glances to Amanda, who still looks about as unreachable as possible. Beth's already filling the tea kettle that appeared when he told her she was staying until they resolved things with Gorman. "Sure. I need to go check in with Shane. Coming along, Amanda?"

Her jaw sets, and she shakes her head in a quick jerk. Beth's eyes narrow as she looks between them, but she doesn't comment. Heading down the hall, Rick wonders if he can manage to slip in a shower as well as a quick phone conversation. Maybe it will give Amanda time to calm down.

~*~*~*~*~

As soon as Rick's out of earshot, taking the decision to contact Shane out of her hands, Amanda finds herself the focus of Beth's full attention. "Do I want to know what you two are fighting about?"

"We aren't fighting. We're trying to figure out what to do next about Gorman. He came here tonight."

Beth nods, but doesn't look like she believes Amanda. "Want some tea and pie?" 

Amanda shakes her head, and Beth goes and fetches the empty beer bottles from the coffee table and rinses them before putting them in a recycling bin. "That explains the expensive bourbon," the girl says, sniffing at one of the tumblers on the counter. "Smells like butterscotch." Carrying the bottle back to the liquor cabinet, Beth switches out the bourbon bottle with a bottle of vodka and a cocktail shaker.

Leaving right now would reinforce Beth's idea that they're fighting, so Amanda slumps on a stool and sips at her beer while Beth brews a pot of tea, measuring loose leaf tea from a prettily painted tin. She can't resist asking when she sees Beth begin to measure something herbal, lemon, and honey into the shaker and smush it with a wooden spoon. "What are you making?"

"Not something we would usually serve at the bar," Beth says, smiling. "But sometimes we get people asking for cocktails just to see if we can make them. So Merle gave me an app of drink recipes to practice from."

"And this one is?" Other than weird, due to the herbal addition and the pot of tea, which smells sort of floral.

"White tea vodka smash. Rick looked like he could use a drink, and he'll usually be my guinea pig." The hot tea is poured into the shaker, along with a decent measure of vodka. Beth stirs with all the flourish Amanda is used to seeing at the bar, straining the result into two glasses filled with ice. "Sure you don't want one?"

Amanda shakes her head, noting how comfortable Beth is in the kitchen. She knows where everything is, casually washing the whiskey tumblers and getting out plates and forks for the pie. Her beer is empty now, but another drink seems excessive.

Beth runs out of things to do, leaning against the counter and studying Amanda with a shrewd look she isn't used to seeing from the girl. "You're angry at him again. Why? I thought you two were in this together."

"He's taking over what I was already doing, like every other male cop does." Amanda would like to blame the poutiness in her voice on alcohol, but two beers really shouldn't hit her that hard.

"Seems like you're shutting yourself out. He asked you to go talk to Shane with him. If you assume the worst of people, that's usually what you get, and Rick's a good man."

Amanda looks at the drinks and pie and frowns. "I think you're biased."

Beth laughs. "Everyone's biased towards their friends or family. I told Shane I wanted to be involved so no other girls are harassed or worse by Gorman. It's living up to my mother's legacy a bit, but it's also because I like Merle. He's had a rough life and deserves to have better now."

"He's a charity case?" Amanda doesn't like the idea of that, even though in many ways, it's how she suspects Rick sees her oldest brother. Her tone shows it because Beth frowns.

"When my brother was about my age, he got into the same type of trouble Merle did. Do you know what happened to Shawn?"

Shaking her head, Amanda can imagine, though.

"He got five years probation and two hundred hours of community service. Everything he did before that, just fines and community service. Did Merle ever get that leeway?"

"No. And I'm guessing you know he served two years in prison." The comparison Beth makes is one that drives Amanda crazy. Shawn Greene benefited from his family in a way people like Amanda and Merle never could.

"Now some asshole is trying to mess up Merle's life, and it's not fair. It wasn't then, and it's worse now. I can help, so I will."

Beth seems so certain that it's exactly that simple. Nothing has ever seemed that clear to Amanda. It's not just Beth's youth, because Rick's reasons for getting involved were stated much the same. It also drives home what Rick said, comparing her and Beth. She might as well be an alien compared to the two of them. Beth moves around the penthouse like she's always lived here, whereas Amanda is only here because Rick is willing to include her in the investigation.

What does he really need her for? She's a complication to the investigation, not an asset. Even inexperienced, Rick handled Gorman like a pro. It's his connections setting it up, his friend protecting Merle in a way she can't, and dammit, even Daryl went to him first. Her mood tanks so far she just wants to be alone.

"I think I should head home. Rick has got this under control, I think, for now."

She almost makes it to the door before Beth calls out. "Sure you're not avoiding talking to him about that love bite on his chest?"

Dammit, hoping Beth didn't notice when it was half exposed by the strap of Rick's undershirt was apparently too much. "That was just for Gorman, to explain why I was here when you weren't. I'm certainly not his type."

Amanda can't stop herself from looking back, as much as she hates herself for it. Beth is looking so thoughtful that what she asks ought to be expected. "And what do you think his type is?"

"You. Look around, Beth. You fit in here, not someone like me. You come from the same type of world" Rick only voiced her own thoughts, after all. 

Beth rolls her eyes and swings her arm at the big open living area. "You're so stuck in your prejudices and the material bits you can't let yourself actually learn who he is, can you?" The scolding tone is at odds with anything Amanda has ever heard the girl using.

"I know who he is."

Scoffing, Beth picks up one of the glasses. "You keep thinking that. It's your loss." Without a backwards look, Beth disappears down the hall.

~*~*~*~*~

Rick's off the phone when Beth reaches his room, looking so damned lost and tired that she wishes she could fix it for him. He's sitting in the little alcove that's set up with a television and small two-seater sofa, head in hands. His cell phone is laying on the cushion beside him.

"Brought you a drink," she calls out softly.

When he looks up, his smile is a pale imitation of the normal one, but he reaches for the glass. "Thanks. I should probably go relay what Shane said to Amanda."

"She left." Beth perches on the storage bench at the end of the bed, watching as Rick sighs and takes a drink from the glass before eyeing it closely. But he doesn't put it down, taking another drink. "Figured you could probably use a drink, but not bourbon."

"Thanks." Rick leans back on the sofa. His shirt shifts, showing the bruised skin along his collarbone even more. "Shane wants you to be extra careful."

"I am. I even took a cab back here, not the bus."

"Remind me to get you a credit card for the extra expenses." 

He looks like that might upset her, so she smiles instead. "That'll certainly keep up the sugar daddy front. Do I get to flash it around a bit?"

"Might as well." Rick reaches up and rubs across his shoulder and winces.

"You should put some antibiotic cream on that." When he looks up guiltily, Beth gives him her most sympathetic smile. "That's not just setting a scene, you know."

"Certainly seemed like it," Rick mutters. He's blushing, and the obvious shyness about the mark makes him look half his age.

"No, that would be what we do. Leaving that kind of mark? That's real interest."

Rick is thinking that over, she can tell. Leaving him to it, she heads back to the kitchen and the pie she's been dying to try since she saw it this afternoon shopping with Maggie. It looks so worth the special stop at the little restaurant on the way here. Whether or not both of the stubborn cops will listen to her, she doesn't know, but she tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer chapter, but it didn't have a good breaking point and was already spun off the prior chapter. 
> 
> Beth's got her work cut out for her in this one...


	7. Simpler Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Michonne discuss the personal aspects of Rick and Amanda's partnership, while Amanda's meeting with at Rick's department ends with an interesting offer from Shane.

Shane silences the vibrating alarm on his watch. He allows himself five minutes to curl into Michonne's warmth. But duty calls, and their division of their day is that he's up before dawn, heading to his office so that most days, he can leave in time to pick Andre up from his after school program at the jiu jitsu academy.

Thank God for unique after school programs that aren't just snacks and crayons - and a housekeeper willing to fill in the occasional evening that both of their schedules go haywire. Pressing a kiss against Michonne's bare shoulder, he gets out of bed, hoping she'll sleep another hour before she has to wake Andre to get him ready and take him to school.

Showering and shaving don't take long at all, and his single cup of coffee for the day is savored at the small table in the breakfast nook. Between himself and Michonne, breakfast is always an easy reheat of something prepped ahead. The pair of mini breakfast quiches full of mushrooms, peppers, spinach, and goat cheese with their sides of turkey bacon, yogurt, and blueberries was something Rick used to call a girlie breakfast. Then his father died of a massive heart attack six years ago, and having a family history on both sides of men dying young of heart disease made his best friend bend to the combined efforts of Shane and Lori for him to eat healthier.

Granted, heart disease isn't an issue for Shane, at least not genetically, but habits learned during college football stuck around and have only gotten further refined in the past year. Athena lays by the table, taking the blueberries he offers as her due. Izzy's probably still snoozing at the foot of Andre's bed.

He's just about done with both breakfast when warm arms slide around his shoulders. "You've got to miss real bacon," Michonne mutters, pressing a kiss against his jawline.

Shane just laughs, twisting to claim a better kiss. "Anyone who's ever enjoyed bacon misses the real thing. But turkey is fine for now." Tugging her into his lap, he breathes in the faint lavender scent of her lotion. "When's our next visit to the clinic?"

"September tenth."

"I'll put in for the time off." His watch beeps the reminder that it's time to leave, and he pretends to whine against her shoulder.

"Is that because of that phone call from Rick Friday night?" she teases. "Because I might not know the details, but the tone sounded as much like you were calming down a buddy after a date gone sideways as something for work."

"Michonne…" Shane raises his head up, and he honestly wishes he could bring her in, but this is their division of information. She doesn't take cases out of his department, but he doesn't discuss cases at home either. His job might not incur regular investigation now, being heavily administrative, but that also means he knows all the details for the sheriff's department as a whole, not just one single department.

She smiles and presses a finger to his lips. "How about we say what I know?" When he nods, she continues. "Something is going on that involves Annette Greene's youngest. Whatever it is has two loosely related cops working together that normally I would say would be a matchmaker's dream. Despite Rick's history and Carl's beliefs, I'm sure it's not Beth that got the man flustered."

"You're playing in the correct ballpark," he admits. Rick barely dictated out the visit with Gorman to Shane before admitting they got off script in trying to fool Gorman. "And why do you say Amanda is a matchmaker's dream for him?"

It's not that Shane can't see it, which was part of what he didn't tell Rick as he reassured him that being undercover meant sometimes losing control. He does, but he knew Lori before her Stepford Wife years. Left to mature into real adulthood? The resemblance between Amanda and the younger Lori is uncanny.

"Rick is a man who needs a woman who isn't afraid to plant a foot in his ass as needed." Michonne grins as she slides out of his lap and goes to set the kettle to boil. "Can you picture his dear, snooty mama meeting Sergeant Shepherd?"

"I think I might sell tickets and popcorn for that one." Shane takes his dishes to the sink and rinses them. "Maybe I should let you put your meddling skills to work."

"Oh, permission?" Michonne winks at him, even as he unlocks the gun safe for his service weapon. 

"Yeah, permission. From how I read her, she's going to need way more encouragement than he will. Rick's already half gone. Give them a couple weeks of togetherness, and he's a given."

Michonne is careful not to wrinkle his uniform, placing her hands on his shoulders instead of gripping his shirt front when she leans in for one last kiss. "Stay safe today. I love you."

It's their ritual, anytime she does wake before he leaves. "Always. I love you, too."

He's not surprised in the least that she steps into the garage, watching him backing out into the driveway proper. Athena is next to her, a stoic guardian of his family in the same way she was of him as his partner before some bastard shot her in the head. When he thinks of the people Michonne has to be in contact with thanks to her job, he wishes there was a viable reason for Athena to stay with her all day. Pushing down the overprotective feelings he knows are higher with their pending visit to the fertility clinic, he settles for waving and smiling as Athena nudges Michonne back into the house.

Shane knows the case is going to test Rick or Amanda to their limits as cops. Rick has a better support system for it, already familiar with Shane in the way only decade plus partners are. But what stuck with him Friday night was Rick's quietly distraught admission that Amanda has no one like Shane to turn to. Neither of her former partners are the type she'll turn to. That's a weak point they need to solve.

~*~*~*~

The joy of working with Gorman is that Amanda knows he's busy when she leaves the precinct after work. The man's insistence on helping run a bowling league for their officers means there's no chance he follows her. Dropping her bag with her uniform in the backseat, she heads for Rick's office. Since Gorman's seen them together, it's not as much of a risk to meet the computer tech at his office.

The sheriff's department is a newer facility, built within the last five years. The adjacent jail isn't the largest in the area, but it's not the smallest, either. She shows her credentials, since she's armed and not in uniform, and gets waved through easily. It takes a stop for directions to make it to Rick's department on the second floor. 

With the day shift ended, there's only a single detective on duty at one of six desks. The man glances up, but Amanda can see Rick's office and points. That gets her a nod as he returns to whatever report he's typing.

Although the door is open, Amanda knocks on the glass anyway. Rick looks up from where he's on the phone and waves her to take a seat. The conversation seems to involve dogs somehow, and she guesses it circles back to the dog fighting case.

Looking around the office, she can tell he hasn't been in it long. It holds none of the slow personalization that anyone in an office seems to inevitably do over time. A good sized ponytail palm tree is in the corner in one of Lori's custom pots, and a pair of photos of Carl at differing ages seems to be the extent of the office being Rick's versus any other lieutenant or captain.

"Sorry about that," Rick says when he hangs up. "We've still got two dogs under veterinary care that I'm trying to find placements for."

Nodding, Amanda rises when Rick does, with Rick gathering a few files off his desk. He leaves his suit jacket behind, and she staunchly ignores that the dress shirt he's wearing today is the same shade of blue as the one she temporarily borrowed as she follows him down the hall. Shane's office is apparently on the opposite side of the flat bottomed V shaped building.

It's also two offices away from the sheriff himself, a reminder that Shane outranks both of them by quite a bit. A civilian secretary is shutting down her computer, obviously leaving for the day. She's dressed like most office workers, in beige slacks and a nice blouse, and smiles prettily at Rick. "He's got a technician in there, but said for you to go on in."

"Thanks, Jules. You heading home?" Rick drops the files in the inbox on her desk labeled for his department.

"Yes, I've got to get home to let my dog out." She glances at the new files and tucks a loose lock of professionally highlighted hair behind her ear. "I'll get those handled in the morning."

"No rush. Speaking of dogs, did you hear back from your friend in Rome about any openings at the dog sanctuary?"

"Are the last two ready for foster homes?" Jules picks up a file, looks inside, and smiles even brighter. "Oh, they are! She says there's room, so I'll call her tonight."

"Thanks. That'll be a lifesaver."

"You could always adopt one yourself."

Jesus Christ, Rick doesn't seem to notice the obvious flirting, making Amanda bite her tongue.

"My building won't allow the breed, I'm afraid, and I'm not home enough to really care for a dog with special needs."

"There is that. Those breed bans are such stupid ideas. It makes me glad I live out in the county and don't rent." Jules finally reaches for the purse in her open desk drawer. "I'll let you know about the transport arrangements for the dogs."

As soon as she heads toward the staircase back the way they came, Rick seems to dismiss the interaction as he knocks at Shane's door beyond the secretary's desk. The other man calls out for them to enter, smiling at them both.

"Eugene and I have a few upgrade projects underway, one as part of his internship, so it works out just to meet here." Shane motions to the young man set up with a laptop on the sofa in his office. Eugene looks up, peering at them over black framed glasses, but seems distracted during the introductions. He wears beige slacks, much like the secretary, but his are paired with a black polo with the sheriff's department logo on it.

"He's traced the source of where Gorman got his information on Rick," Shane offers, waving them to individual chairs opposite his desk. "Once we're done with this, one of your attorney's office's legal secretaries is going to be in a lot of hot water for breaching privacy. Luckily, she found exactly what the attorney wanted her to find."

"This Gorman is fairly mundane and old school on his methods," Eugene says, voice sounding absent as he continues to type. "No real online presence for him, just a rudimentary Facebook account, and the two officers closest to him are barely computer literate. Unless he recruits a tech, the blabbermouth remains our best source of feeding him bad information. Although to be fair, she's probably being blackmailed, too."

"What did you find?" Shane looks intrigued.

"Had to dip into out of state records, but she has a juvenile record that isn't expunged under her maiden name. As she did not disclose it upon her employment, it leaves her vulnerable for predatory behavior." Eugene stops typing, rubbing the bridge of his nose after taking his glasses off. A black and silver wedding band adorns his left hand. "Record is for solicitation. She has been clean ever since she became an adult."

"How in the world did he know who your attorney is?" Amanda is puzzled, as she didn't dig into all of the background Shane was setting up for Rick. 

"I gave Merle a card at the bar one evening because he's got a dispute with a supplier," Rick explains. "My attorney doesn't know why she was asked to slip the new paperwork in and lock away the real thing, but Yumiko is willing to concede we have a need."

"Considering her hourly rate, she's well compensated for any hijinks." Shane sighs and makes a note. "File her information for consideration, Eugene. We'll give her some leeway in questioning after the cops are handled."

The computer technician nods. "Maybe going old school detective is merited," he mumbles, settling his glasses back in place. "If Gorman's aware of prostitution as an income source, there's a shelter in Atlanta that specifically works with getting sex workers off the streets and into mainstream jobs."

Shane nods thoughtfully. "Think Jesus would want to be involved in this?"

The wry laughter from the technician is unexpected. "I think he is unenviably in a position to assist, and he has never declined anything that gets the predators instead of the workers."

"Jesus?" Rick asks, looking confused.

Shane jots something on a post-it note, passing it to Rick so Amanda sees the address. "His street name. You'll understand when you meet him. He runs a homeless shelter and soup kitchen."

"He would be there this evening, should you want to query his knowledge quickly," Eugene volunteers. 

Amanda wonders how the awkward technician knows a man running an Atlanta shelter, but maybe he's a volunteer. It's not unusual for Tech to encourage its students to provide community service. Eugene's internship here is partially community service as it is.

Rick looks thoughtful. "He's likely to hear things we wouldn't as cops. Are you free for a field trip?" he asks Amanda.

It's not back to his penthouse, and actually seems to be the sort of situation Rick excels in. Since Gorman hasn't contacted Rick since Friday and seemed to ignore Beth completely since then, it's a better lead than anything else they have so far. "We might as well. It's on both our ways home."

Shane hands a stack of stapled papers to Rick. "An updated financial structure based on the area Gorman seems interested in. Obviously, you could gloss over most details by claiming your financial manager handles those, but if you're too ignorant, that's it's own red flag."

"I'll study it. Beth's working tonight, so I might run into him." Rick takes out his phone and snaps a photo of the post-it before handing it to Amanda. "I've got to get my jacket. Meet you there?"

Amanda starts to tell him it doesn't need both of them, but the idea of starting that conversation in front of Shane and the tech is abhorrent. Instead, she nods, figuring she can wait in the parking lot until she sees him go to his car. "Hang on a minute, Amanda," Shane calls out when she goes to follow Rick out the door.

Eugene closes his laptop and heads out of the room without being asked, so Shane has obviously mentioned something to him. He closes the door behind him, leaving Shane looking tiredly at her. The deputy runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair.

"I need you to watch his back for me, please, Amanda."

Of all the things she expected Shane to say, that wasn't even in the ballpark. He's warned them they aren't really prepared for being undercover, and that's already been proven true. The extent isn't even known yet, but their first plunge still has her unsettled.

"I will." Maybe he isn't her choice of partner and she isn't his, but they are partners.

"Rick can be a bit self-sacrificing. I wouldn't have agreed to this without a partner, and Beth doesn't count. I know you've had to add something to the plan you preferred not to do."

Amanda thinks of the resentment she felt when she thought she was being edged out, which was worse than the embarrassment of the near sex on the couch. This is about as opposite as it can get. "I can deal with it. Hell, Gorman was almost polite to me today. Scared his cronies."

That makes Shane chuckle. "Just be careful that you remember where your lines are. It's easy to get them blurred, and I don't mean the legalities. Don't bottle everything up. Not saying you have to come to me, but make sure you have someone."

Something in his expression makes Amanda think maybe he ended up in a situation of the type she and Rick did. She doesn't ask, since he didn't volunteer. "I do have someone." Although she can't imagine discussing anything like that with Daryl, not really, even if he is aware of the case. Hell, she probably would discuss it with Shane first. At least he might manage neutral.

"I honestly think he would have been happiest staying in patrol with a partner until he retired." Checking the time, he sighs. "I better let you get on your way. I'm due to pick Andre up from jiu jitsu."

Shane stands, letting her precede him out of the office, where he locks up behind himself. He walks with her to the stairs and out to the parking lot. They reach a department logoed Ford F150 parked in a reserved place. "Stay safe out there, Officer Shepherd. If you let him, you won't be able to ask for a better partner."

The remark is specific enough that Amanda wonders if Rick shared her discussion about partners. She just nods and keeps going to reach her car, since Rick's Mustang is gone already. Even as she follows the deputy's truck out of the parking lot, she mulls over the conversation. In the end, she thinks Shane's tone was wistful. It makes her wonder how much the ambitious deputy misses simpler days in patrol, with his best friend at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Rick in this chapter. His POV at the shelter ran rather long.... 😉


	8. Figuring Him Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Amanda tour the youth homeless center run by Jesus, who alerts them to an additional problem linked to Gorman and his criminal ambitions.

Rick reaches the shelter's address and parks, realizing this location is probably less overnight shelter and more community center and thrift store. It wouldn't be the first time a non-profit had to split locations, due to zoning or neighborhood complaints. The storefront for the thrift store is cheerfully painted and looks inviting. An open gate is next to a sign that directs visitors for the community center to a side entrance about halfway down the long, warehouse style building. Around are other businesses, most closed for the evening already.

It isn't a long wait for Amanda to pull in and park next to him. She looks thoughtful about something as they both get out of their cars, but eyes the community center sign versus the store. Both are still open, but the store is closing soon.

"I'm guessing if the guy is the director, he'll be in the center, not the shop," she suggests.

"Works for me." Rick slips his jacket on to cover his shoulder holster. Amanda's holster isn't hidden at all, and she eyes it for a moment before going to open her trunk. Holster and firearm both go into a gun safe bolted to the floor of the trunk as he watches.

"People in places like this are wary enough about cops without me making it obvious," she explains. "And I've got an ankle holster." Rick nods, since it makes sense, as there's really no such thing as off duty for a cop of any stage of their career. 

It doesn't surprise him to see she has a trunk organizer on one side of the trunk, filled with neatly sorted items, like a good sized first aid kit, rain slicker, and emergency blankets. The other side has a heavier plastic crate with jumper cables, an empty gas can, and a portable floor jack. She's got a gym bag with one of the martial arts gyms nestled in there as well.

Amanda catches his interest and shrugs. "All these compact cars? Most don't even have a spare. Daryl helped me put in a different trunk floor panel. Don't have to unload the whole trunk just to change a tire." Reaching in, she slides the sports bag out of the center, demonstrating the center panel lifts to reveal a full sized spare tire.

Considering she's a cop, Rick can understand not wanting to wait for roadside assistance. Response times are better in the city, or so he's told, but out in the rural areas, drivers aren't always as lucky. "Can't blame you there."

Rick lets her lead the way toward the center entrance. "Have you ever been here?"

Shaking her head, Amanda reaches for the door. "Sort of familiar with it, because there aren't a lot that specialize in homeless youth, but since it's not in my precinct, I haven't been here."

The interior looks almost like the lobby or common area of a college dorm. There's a reception desk to the left, and an area with both couches and tables with chairs to the right. Shelving near the tables is full of board games and books. A notice board directly across from the entrance carries flyers for GED classes, job openings, and a list of meal times and tutoring offered at the center. 

A woman about Amanda's age walks out of a side room, smiling. "Are you here as volunteers or in need of services?"

Rick sees Amanda frown a little and shakes his head. "Eugene sent us to speak to Jesus about something."

"In that case, wait here a moment. We've just served supper, so he's bustling about in the cafeteria." She motions toward the couches and disappears through a different door.

Amanda seems too restless to sit, going back to the notice board and browsing. Rick drifts toward the bookshelves, noting there is a lot of nonfiction, especially GED or other test prep books. He tries to think over what to ask the man, hoping he's as safe a source as Shane and Eugene seem to think.

"Sorry about that. Eugene did text me that you were coming, but I always help serve the meal. It's pizza day, so we've got a full crowd." The man speaking has long, honey brown hair and a full beard, giving the source of the nickname. The resemblance ends there, since he's dressed in black jeans and a dark purple t-shirt. "I'm Paul Rovia, but most around here call me Jesus."

Amanda is closest, so she makes their introductions, probably unnecessary if Eugene let the man know he was coming. When he shakes their hands, Rick notices he wears a wedding band identical to the one the computer tech wore. Jesus smiles and motions for them to follow him down the narrow hallway past the reception desk. His office is labeled with a laminated drawing and his name, some gift from a youngster, Rick thinks.

The office definitely has the cobbled together feel of a non-profit that actually spends their funding on their cause. The chairs in front of the desk are comfortable but mismatched, and the desk itself is a cheap assembled pressboard type. Jesus closes the door before everyone takes a seat.

"Eugene indicated there was a need for keeping the discussion reasonably quiet." Jesus smiles at them both. "But not what or why."

Amanda glances at Rick, and he tilts his head to give her the lead. It earns him a long look, but then she turns back to their host. "We're looking into evidence of any new significant players in town, particularly anything related to narcotics, theft, or prostitution."

Jesus sighs, rubbing a hand against his bearded chin. He looks a little wary, so Rick understands another reason Eugene sent them here. The center director knows something that the tech thinks they needed to hear from the source. "Why is a border county so interested?"

"Because I'm Atlanta PD, not a deputy," Amanda offers. "And I suspect you know why I'm interested."

"So someone's finally trying to clean house a little." Jesus glances back and forth between them, gaze shrewd as he makes the needed connections. "This place may not be in the territory where the problems are focused, but the people we serve are moving across the city."

"Why wouldn't they visit closer shelters? There's two in my precinct, both of which have on site beds." Amanda looks puzzled. "Granted, it looks a lot more cheerful here than either of those, and you specialize in a younger clientele, but still…"

Jesus smiles wryly. "The younger clientele is a large part of it. Most of the people we serve don't have much in common with the average homeless person that those shelters serve, aside from mental health issues. We don't insist on preaching to our people, and we don't require them to be completely homeless. And most other shelters aren't truly LGBTQ friendly."

"Not completely homeless?" Rick asks.

"There are a significant number of older teens who come here for tutoring or classes who are high risk for being homeless, most due to aging out of the foster system. Social workers do their best, but most are overworked. The lady who greeted you? Olivia spends her time here helping clientele apply for grants and scholarships. Just getting a minimum wage job in Atlanta is how these kids end up homeless or working the streets."

Amanda tenses as he speaks, but she doesn't ask anything new, so Rick decides to ask her later. "So you're in a position to hear about what's going on elsewhere, without being subject to the problems directly."

His words make Jesus's expression turn grim. "Sadly true. One of the things we try to do is help sex workers get out of the profession. Most of them aren't homeless, but the moment anyone finds out what they've been doing to keep food on the table, legitimate jobs tend to disappear in a puff of smoke."

Amanda shifts in her chair, making the connection Rick does about the legal secretary who is Gorman's source, he thinks. She leans forward. "There are cops taking advantage of that, aren't there?"

"There have always been cops doing that, Sergeant Shepherd. Sometimes it's fairly honest, using them as informants and ignoring the realities of their lives. Other times, bribes exchange hands, either sex or money. Your precinct? It's mostly the latter, and the demands are pretty steady for both types of bribes."

Considering Rick's used criminal informants himself, the implication it's taking advantage of people doesn't sit as well. King County didn't really lend itself to sex workers the way the city does, though. Amanda stiffens at the confirmation of what they already know.

She sighs, hands twitching against her knees. "Do you have names? I've got rumors and suspicions, but confirming it openly has been difficult so far."

"Gorman, O'Donnell, Alvarado. The latter two have partners who do not participate, but they're guilty by association. Based on complaints made and dismissed, I suspect at least one higher level officer is involved. They know what's going on. I'm actually surprised they haven't run afoul of any narcotics task force around, but I suppose they know how to stay off that radar."

Rick watches Amanda close her eyes, grimacing. Jesus has confirmed at least five dirty cops, all ones she's worked with for years. Taking a deep breath, she nods and her voice is husky as she speaks. "They did. But something is changing, and they're getting bolder. More ambitious."

"There's been rumors of a new high end escort business in town," Jesus volunteers. "One of the women we got into college received an offer she turned down. Seems to specifically target college students who need extra funds. It's definitely a full service escort service, because she was going to be required to get a full gynecological exam to be employed."

Rick sighs, because this is bad. "Are the cops involved in that?"

"O'Donnell approached Frankie, but from the sound of it, they're the muscle and legal protection for whoever is running the scheme. Much like they've done for lower level dealers."

"If Frankie has any new contact, can you let us know?" Amanda inquires. "Probably best to send the message through Eugene."

"I can do that. It's possible they might try to recruit her again." Jesus looks through some paperwork in his desk and passes it to each of them. "Although if you want to actually get a feel for the situation, one or both of you could volunteer here. If it would add to your investigation, that is."

Rick glances at the stapled stack of papers, noting that it's a full application and background check. "You require this of all volunteers?"

"Every single one. We serve an extremely vulnerable population here, Lieutenant. Any extra layers of protection we can add to make sure this remains a safe have, the better. It may limit our public appeal, but that's the reality of it."

Rick flips to the back page, where a list of current needs is detailed. "I might know of a foundation that has some grant money available. Mind if I pass your information on?"

"I never turn down legal funding sources." Jesus passes him a business card. "Would you both like a full tour?"

Rick thinks Amanda wants to decline, but then she squares her shoulders. "Sure."

When Jesus glances to him, Rick just stands. "Lead the way."

With the evening meal underway, Jesus leads them through the building. There's a pair of locker rooms with showers similar to any gym or athletic club, but the addition of a trio of stackable washer/dryer combos in the locker area reminds Rick that this clientele has needs beyond the actual workout room also in the building. Classrooms, a 24-hour staffed office that runs a crisis hotline, and a supply room that makes Rick hate the fact that blankets are part of the necessities provided.

Jesus sees him staring at those and smiles gently. "Building trust is a process. We prepare for all possibilities."

"Aside from the obvious trust issues, what is your biggest obstacle?" Rick can understand where anyone whose life led them to braving life on the streets wouldn't easily trust anyone. But there's always more to the story. 

"A lack of beds." Amanda moves closer, intent on the answer Jesus is giving. "Our emergency shelter is supposed to be for thirty to sixty day stays, but finding landlords who will work with us to set up our clients up independently is harder than finding employment. Right now, we've got four clients who've lived in the shelter for nearly six months."

"Housing in Atlanta. That's a tall order, isn't it?" With Rick moving here, he hadn't even done his own apartment hunting. His attorney took care of everything, along with one overly chipper real estate agent.

"An extremely tall one. A shelter has to have approval, and usually the neighbors get up in arms, especially with former sex workers. So expanding the shelter or adding a new one isn't as easy an option as just finding the money."

"But apartments with leases, that's less likely to set folks off?"

Jesus nods. "People are amazingly good at ignoring what their rent paying neighbors do. The only fuss raised there is typically the same any neighborhood has about rental housing versus their property values, and that's an argument they usually lose."

Rick files the information away for later. It needs more financial background than he has, and Yumiko and his financial planner will be better set up to come up with something. Instead, he follows as Jesus leads them back to the lobby area.

"Normally, I would take you to tour the cafeteria and offer for you to dine with some of our folks, but I figured you might want lower visibility for now." Farewells are brief, and Rick and Amanda walk back to their cars.

Glancing to Amanda, he doesn't like how quiet she's been since Jesus named the names he did, confirming her suspicions. If they part now, she's likely to go to Merle's bar and brood. The risk that she'll confront Gorman is high, because he thinks he would himself, and he's not as personally involved. They both need time to absorb this, and the escort service is an additional complication they need to allow for.

~*~*~*~

"His mention of dinner sounds nice. Let's not go to Merle's, not tonight. We can grab dinner and make some plans."

Amanda stiffens at the suggestion, eyeing Rick distrustfully. The last time they tried to make plans over dinner, they ended up half naked on his couch. But he's right that they need to mull things over. "Fine. We can go somewhere that's way off the radar of any Atlanta PD."

Rick shrugs, unlocking his car. "Passed a place about half a mile ago that I've gotten food from before. The L-shaped shopping center with the Marine recruiting station."

That sounds safe enough, especially if Rick's eaten there before. She somehow doubts it's something as mundane as a McDonald's, especially tucked in a shopping center. "I'll meet you there."

Following the yellow Mustang makes her roll her eyes when she parks. The shopping center has that recruiting office, along with a lot of space taken up by a medical clinic, an art gallery, one of those silly chain gyms, and a hair salon. The one and only restaurant is quite openly not just an upscale vegetarian place, but proudly vegan.

When she passes Rick as he holds the door open, she arches a brow. "I've seen you eat fish."

The comment is overheard by the hostess, who smiles brightly. "Pescatarians eat fish and seafood. It's actually a quite healthy lifestyle for someone who isn't ready to be fully vegetarian or vegan. Livestock uses up eighty percent of agricultural land, without giving back an equal amount of nutrition. Fish is much more ecologically friendly."

Before Amanda has fully absorbed the small lecture, the hostess turns to Rick. "Good evening, Lieutenant Grimes. Would you like your usual table?"

"That would be perfect, Holly. Thanks." Rick returns the smile, but looks amused when he glances Amanda's way. They follow the perky hostess to a table that doesn't have patrons walking behind them, with a line of sight for the front door.

Amanda arches a brow when Rick lets her take a seat first. She deliberately sits on the side of the table that puts her back to the wall, while Rick just smiles and sits across from her. Holly turns to her. "Do you need to look at the drink menu?"

Deciding she doesn't really care, Amanda just asks for water. Rick nods when the hostess confirms hot tea, before asking for the appetizer sampler.

"You drink hot tea, in August, in Atlanta?" she asks, smirking.

"It's too much to fool with at home, but nice when I don't have to sort out the tea myself." He shrugs. "Beth's ritual with the tea kettle and teapot and all is a little finicky, but she swears it's soothing."

Amanda studies the menu to avoid thinking about Beth's comfort in Rick's home. "Any recommendations? Vegan isn't exactly my thing."

"I would suggest ordering something you would enjoy getting normally. The worst leap to make is ordering something completely new."

"You come here often enough to be known to the hostess and you haven't even lived in Atlanta a month. How's that?"

"It's on the way to Shane's. I've stopped here every other month or so since he moved here. Michonne and Shane introduced me to the place, but Holly remembers me because she's the owner."

With all the restaurants to choose from, the fact that he keeps coming here is hopeful. "I'll try the eggplant lasagna then."

"Good choice." As their drinks arrive, Rick orders the shrimp tacos before pouring tea into his cup from the small teapot delivered to the table. The scent is a little floral and citrus at the same time. 

"Are there actual shrimp in those?" she asks. After the speech about different stages of vegetarianism, she figures she should ask. Her water is sparkling water, which is a little distracting.

Rick shakes his head. "Not here. Battered oyster mushrooms masquerading as shrimp."

"Do you always eat so healthy?" The other meal they shared trended toward healthy as well. She tries to keep her own meals on track, as part of supporting her workout routine between swimming at the athletic club and muay thai at an actual studio and not some prissy workout gym. While Shane strikes her as a health nut, Rick doesn't seem as involved in that sort of thing.

"Aside from indulging here and there, usually." 

Their appetizers arrive, with the platter sat in the center of the table. The sampler is apparently the spinach-artichoke dip, spring rolls, steamed dumplings, and what looks like buffalo wings. Everything is surrounded by dipping sauces. Deciding she might as well be adventurous, Amanda accepts the even split of everything except the dip.

Although she doesn't care for the imitation buffalo wing, the spring rolls and dumplings are tasty and indistinguishable from those she's had elsewhere. She's hopeful for the lasagna now. Tofu is apparently not her thing, just like every other time she's tried it.

"Officially, what are your days off? I know you took Carl to that game on a Sunday, but I didn't figure you'd luck into a full weekend shift as a new sergeant."

"Sundays and Mondays. I'm on day shift since the promotion is new, but I suspect I'll rotate back to evenings by the first of the year." Since it's probably something he should know, she adds, "Gorman is the sergeant off Fridays and Saturdays."

That's a fact she was originally grateful for, since it means she only sees the asshole three days a week at work. Lamson has the official weekend, which meant so did she for her all too short field supervisory training. She honestly suspects her days off were set for her to avoid Gorman. The lieutenant isn't stupid about the man's nature, even if she doesn't seem to leash him.

"That's better than completely middle of the week, for us to coordinate. I need to finish reading the paperwork to see how best to approach Gorman. I suspect he expects it to take a little while to set up." Rick passes the papers to her, letting her skim them while he toys with the dip and chips.

Amanda's eyes widen at the property listing. The penthouse was an indication, but this is a significant investment just in real estate. "You actually own all this?"

"Technically, the family trusts own most of the property and investments. These are properties my lawyer has been buying in the last few years that are in my own name. The cash deposits they show records of are payouts from the family trust. It's not a perfect paper trail, but good enough to fool Gorman."

"With this kind of funding, why didn't you just buy a house? The rent you're paying is just throwing it away." Amanda leans back in her chair, just astounded.

"Because of Carl. The security is most important, but also, he graduates in May. Why buy a house for just a year or just for me? I do still have the one in King County." Rick flushes, his pale complexion giving away embarrassment. "Besides, the family trust owns a significant part of the building anyway."

Their food arrives, interrupting that line of conversation, and the lasagna really is delicious. They eat while it's hot, but as the meal winds down, Amanda studies him again.

"You don't intend to stay in Atlanta if Carl goes to college out of state, do you?"

"It's on the list of possibilities that I might move, yeah." He studies her for a moment, those clear blue eyes serious and intent. "One of my detectives is in line for promotion to lieutenant, but she's nine months shy of time in rank to be promoted despite fifteen years with the county. They hired me for a year, and she'll take over property crimes next August."

"And what happens then?" She can't imagine blithely stating her job would end in a year, not after how hard she fought to be where she is. Getting a job outside Atlanta probably wouldn't be hard, but promotions are more open for women in departments struggling to recruit and stay staffed like Atlanta always is. 

"I take a captain's position in the department if one is available or find a job elsewhere."

"And will one be available?" He’s a man, with almost two decades of police work under his belt, so he probably will end up with a list of departments to choose from. The scandal of exposing the dirty cops won’t reflect on him the same because they aren’t his coworkers. Besides, if that real estate list and other small hints add up correctly in her mind, she strongly suspects he works solely because he likes to, not because he needs income in any way. It’s a security she can’t help but envy.

"Possibly. There are two up for retirement, plus the chief deputy himself. No guarantee any of the three will take retirement in the next year." 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who seems to be a cop because they just love the job and no other reason.” Maybe it’s starting out in Atlanta, where shifts are long, department politics layered like a minefield, and public opinion always ready to shift against the police force, but she lost her optimism about the job long ago. Rick somehow seems to still have his, and Shane noted that his best friend was always happiest on patrol.

It seems sometimes like that is Rick’s one constant, aside from his son, being a police officer. He seems so nonchalant about the fact that he could be unemployed in a year. Is he getting bored of the work now that he’s embroiled in more paperwork than police work? From listening to her lieutenant, Amanda knows that the amount of administrative work she has now as a sergeant is nothing compared to being a lieutenant. Now, she’s on the streets at least half her day. She’s not sure Dawn’s been out of her office in months.

The waitress comes by to clear the table before he can reply, giving them a pause after she offers refills they decline. Amanda snags the check, daring him silently to object, but Rick simply smiles and collects the paperwork. She's had two meals on his dime. It's her turn to pay.

Back at their cars, she leans against hers. "What is our next move with Gorman?"

"I'll offer him an opportunity to send money through a business, preferably a restaurant or similar. I can buy time saying my people are looking for the right one, but he's got to lay off Merle because there are too many cops as clientele there."

"And the escort service?" That part really pisses Amanda off, because she's starting to understand Gorman's interest in Beth now.

"We find out how far in he is. If we're lucky? Maybe we take that one down, too."

"Agreed. Think the Sheriff will be patient for us to dig there?"

Rick nods. "He's up for reelection in two years. His office heading up a bust of dirty city cops with tales of drugs, theft, and prostitution…" He laughs humorously.

"It's a suburban politician's wet dream, isn't it?" It's a nightmare for her department, one that will probably end her career in law enforcement as the initiator of the investigation. But for a sheriff whose county only borders Atlanta? He can probably already see his campaign slogans now.

Sighing, she digs her keys out of her pocket. It was a long day, one she was supposed to be off, but ended up covering another sergeant's shift. "You're going to the bar tonight?"

"Yeah. Beth's working. We're still sticking to alternating times at the bar, right?"

It was what she suggested via text Saturday morning. Their supposed fuck buddy status means too much time together at Merle's bar is risky. "It's the best plan we have so far."

"Alright." Rick taps the roof of his car before unlocking it. "I'll keep you updated."

He drives off even as she's settling into her own car. Instead of home, Amanda aims for the pool instead. An hour of laps will clear her mind, which is far more focused on figuring out Rick the man than the case she shares with him. Shane's words about the partnership lurk in the back of her mind as she drives. She can’t figure out Rick Grimes, yet, but she’s going to keep trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will get really tricky for this pair, as Gorman tries to draw Rick firmly within his circle of dirty cops...


	9. This Is About Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gorman sends a 'gift' to Rick that causes him and Amanda to adapt quickly to keep their cover intact, even as they find out even more of the man's misdeeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Gorman needs a warning much like Negan does, even when he's not IN the chapter!

Amanda makes it home after muay thai and showers. With Beth out of town for the weekend for her brother's wedding, her Friday night is her own. As much as she hates backing off Gorman, she knows the advice to do so is correct. Now that she's really on his radar, he'll pay far more attention to her now, like he has all week at work.

Feeding Tanith takes just a few minutes before she settles in with the chicken and sweet potato hash she put in the oven while she showered. While overtime isn't as much of a constant now, years of her eight hour shifts running to ten or twelve hours taught her the value of premade meals that just need to be reheated over store bought. Well, that and cooking lessons with Carol.

Besides, watching Food Network as she eats just doesn't mesh with some store bought microwave meal. Half the things the chefs make are things she would never eat, especially on the competition shows, but the ideas still always make her appreciate a good meal. She was lucky as a kid, to be too young to actively remember going hungry before Mama McGinley's. Daryl and Merle weren't so lucky.

Since she has to work tomorrow, she's considering just an early night after hand washing her dishes from breakfast and supper. The jaw cracking yawn definitely makes it a worthwhile idea. But then her phone buzzes, and ignoring it just isn't in her skill set anymore.

Swearing soundly after reading Rick's text, Amanda considers changing, but it's just more effort than she wants to bother with. It's August, hot and humid, and showing up in running shorts and a t-shirt is just going to have to suffice. Throwing together an overnight bag to support the girlfriend scenario, she texts back that she's on her way.

She isn't sure what to make of the next text at first, but ten minutes later, she's at the security office of the building being scanned into their system and handed a shiny access keycard like she's seen the two Grimes men and Beth use.

"Just swipe it through the card reader in the elevator or at the apartment door," the security guard advises. He's a retired cop himself, proud enough of his thirty-five years on the force to brag as they waited on the system to update. "If you have any issues, just come see me, Sergeant Shepherd."

Thanking him, she heads for the main elevator bank and sighs before ducking next door into the specialty grocery store that connects in the lobby. A few extras to set their interrupted date night scenario will help. Things are getting a little too involved when she's got her own key, more or less, to the home of her supposed friend with benefits. But as she makes it to the elevator, she supposes she understands. It doesn't make sense for her to have to be escorted up every time.

"Rick?" She calls out, pretending to fuss with the two canvas shopping bags and her overnight bag as she walks through the foyer.

"In the kitchen," he answers. 

Rounding the corner, he sees the shopping bags and leaves his spot at the counter to take both of them, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Thank God. I don't think she really believed I already had plans," he whispers.

Amanda smiles at their visitor, making sure to keep it cool and polite, not friendly. No matter what the relationship agreement, no woman wants her evening with a man interrupted. "Well, hello. I'm Amanda"

The girl's eyes widen, and Amanda thinks girl is the right term. She's Beth's age, maybe, and dressed to accentuate the coed idea in a Georgia State University t-shirt that hugs her curves over barely decent denim shorts. Her long, curly dark hair is tamed into a neat ponytail. She looks relieved, not upset, to see Amanda.

"Rick said he already had plans, but Gorman was pretty insistent that I stay." Biting her lip, she glances between them, fumbling a bottle of Sprite between her fingers nervously. "I'm Joan. Normally, it's extra for a couple, but Gorman said the boss said anything is free tonight."

Amanda controls the sense of horror from that statement with all the willpower she has. It also makes her wonder about the relieved look Joan had at Amanda's arrival. She looks at Rick, who pauses in putting away the food. "I told her neither of us were into that sort of thing," he says.

Sighing, Amanda reaches past Rick into the fridge and helps herself to one of the craft beers he seems to prefer. This is not going to be a quick dismissal, and they obviously have an insight into the escort business dropped right into their lap.

"Did you have supper?" Rick asks, folding the now empty shopping bags.

"On the way here. Some of that's for breakfast." Taking a seat on a barstool next to Joan, she smiles with a little more warmth. "I'm not sure why Gorman was so insistent on you staying."

"It's how new security is brought in by the boss with a… gift." Joan takes a drink of her soda and shudders. "And it's always free after, for security. Please don't send me back tonight."

Jesus. It's a test, to make sure Rick's really on board. Gorman is making sure he crosses the line by being a cop screwing a prostitute. No matter what fancy name Joan has, it's all the same thing. The girl doesn't lurk on the streets, avoiding cops, earning trickles of money at a time.

"Why are you worried about leaving?" Rick asks, looking alert and tense. He’s picked up on something, but then again, he’s been in the girl’s presence longer.

Joan pales and shakes her head.

“Joan?” Amanda coaxes softly. “Why don’t you want to leave?”

The girl looks between them both, and maybe it’s that damned earnest boy next door expression Rick can still pull off at almost forty, but it works. “I’m supposed to check back in when I’m done, and if I do, Gorman will probably want me tonight.”

Oh, hell. Amanda can’t imagine being considered a perk of the job to a man like Gorman. It makes her stomach churn, and from Rick’s expression, his, too. But they’ve got to play this carefully, because they have no idea how much of a hold over this girl the dirty cop has. Amanda’s seen it time and time again, where a sex worker is loyal to their pimp even when the man is more dangerous to them than the actual work.

“You can stay, Joan, but it won’t be for any special services,” Rick tells the girl, his voice taking on a soothing tone Amanda suspects he probably has used hundreds of times as a patrolman. “Gorman doesn’t understand about me and Amanda.“

Joan’s breathing calms, exactly as Rick intended, and she focuses on Rick. “What doesn’t he understand?” Amanda kind of wonders that herself. What’s Rick’s interpretation to Joan of what they are to hide that they’re partnered cops, not lovers.

“Male cops can do pretty much whatever they like in their private lives, and it doesn’t affect their promotions,” he says, coming to lean against the counter opposite where Joan is sitting. “But female cops? If someone like Gorman knew Amanda and I were serious about each other, it would be twisted to her sleeping her way to the promotions she’s earned by her own hard work.”

“Oh.” Joan turns to Amanda, who shrugs at the question in the girl’s eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Nothing is ever fair if you’re a woman doing a job most men think is for men only,” Amanda tells her. It’s actually clever of Rick to play that angle, because while a man might not immediately consider it a viable reason to keep their ‘relationship’ under wraps, a woman would, especially a young one being victimized by Gorman. She can practically see the words ‘Romeo and Juliet’ playing out in Joan’s mind.

“That sucks.” Joan sighs. “You don’t want me to tell him that she was here tonight.”

“We would prefer that you didn’t. He thinks I’m dating someone else entirely, and we’d like it to keep it that way. Especially since she’s about your age, and Gorman knows her.”

Amanda sucks in a breath at the admission, but Rick’s judged correctly. Joan practically fucking melts over the protective note in Rick’s voice. “I wouldn’t put another girl on his radar. Never,” Joan says vehemently. “I’m guessing you didn’t know what he wanted you to start working security for.”

Rick shakes his head slowly. Technically, it’s even true. Gorman never mentioned anything this involved, Amanda knows. “It was just for some extra money for my son’s college fund.”

Joan looks around the penthouse with wide eyes, a furrow appearing between her brows. “Why would you need extra money?”

“Because MIT costs fifty thousand dollars a year in tuition.”

“Geez. And I thought the University of Georgia was expensive.” Joan sighs, the confusion clearing easily at that massive sum. “That’s how I ended up doing this, you know. I’m a senior this year, and I lost part of my funding for school last year. Another girl introduced me to Gorman.”

Amanda had already sort of connected the dots with Gorman’s extreme interest in Beth to his involvement with whoever owns the escort service, but this confirms it. “Do you know any of the other girls you work with?” she asks, wondering just how far to press the girl.

“A few. Sometimes we do a job together. Those are usually the ones that we get a security escort on, when there are multiple clients. They’re all students like me.” Joan actually tears up. “My major is useless now. I was going to be a teacher. How can I do that after I’ve done this? It was just supposed to be parties, not sex.”

When Amanda moves closer, sliding an arm around the girl, it isn’t just her training that prompts her. Joan buries her face in her hands, sobbing softly. When Amanda looks up at Rick, she can see a flicker of anger behind those clear blue eyes, and she knows her own expression reflects it as well. Once Joan finally calms and focuses on Rick again, Amanda stays close, keeping a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder.

Watching Rick question Joan gently, she wonders why someone with Rick’s level of people skills is working property crimes. Maybe he’s not as ambitious as Shane, wanting to climb the ranks into the political heights of a department, but she’s not even sure Joan understands the gentle interrogation is exactly that. After watching some of the burned out detectives working crimes against persons in Atlanta, Amanda thinks she would kill for someone this gentle questioning the victim the next time she’s dealing with a rape survivor.

The girl even has a mug of tea by the end of it, Rick moving through the same motions of heating water and setting up the porcelain teapot as Beth, despite his prior grumbling it’s too finicky. The floral and apple scent of chamomile tea wafts from the pot and then the mug as Rick passes it to Joan after dumping enough honey in to sweeten four mugs. Joan sips at it, shivering as if she’s cold, and Amanda supposes she probably is, so she goes and fetches a soft fleece throw off the couch to wrap around her shoulders.

“You won’t tell Gorman what I told you?” Joan asks plaintively.

Rick shakes his head. “I’m not going to get you into any trouble with him. Tonight, you’ll stay here, and then in the morning, you can check in like you always would. Just a boring night on the job, okay?”

Joan nods, cupping the mug close to her chest. Those big, dark eyes focus on Rick. “If you say you want to see me again, he’ll probably start ignoring me. He doesn’t like to share with other security.”

That’s maybe the weirdest fucking statement Amanda’s ever seen. A man who takes advantage of sex workers, but he won’t fuck a woman who’s also fucking someone he knows directly. The bastard is probably afraid of gossip or comparison of his likely pitiful techniques in bed.

“I can do that.” Rick doesn’t even hesitate on that. Having a favorite is probably adding to their cover story with Gorman, although at this rate, Rick’s going to have to claim a sex addiction. She doubts Gorman would think it unlikely. A pervert like him would just assume most other men are the same way, given the opportunity.

As soon as Joan passes the mug back to him, Rick offers a refill. She accepts, and then he gives her that soft, reassuring smile that the girl responds to like it’s sunshine after a year in the dark. “C’mon, Joan. You look like you could use some decent sleep.”

Amanda’s eyes narrow a bit as Rick steers the girl down the hallway toward the master bedroom, one hand gently at the center of her back. She still has the fleece blanket around her shoulders. But he stops opposite of the direction his bedroom should be in, making her curious. Following the pair, she realizes that while the penthouse may officially only have two bedrooms, there’s a third room. 

The interior position means the room has no windows, but the lack of a closet and built in shelving makes her think it’s intended to be a study or den of some sort. Rick certainly has it set up as such. A massive wooden desk is set up on one side of the room, in front of all the built in shelves, facing toward the door like any business office would. Instead of visitor’s chairs, there’s a comfortable looking couch, covered in a deep red fabric. 

Rick tugs the cushions off the couch and stacks them against the wall, unfolding the full sized bed. While Joan and Amanda watch in curiosity, he retrieves sheets and a quilt out of the bottom drawer of a dresser, which doesn’t quite fit the decor of the room. It makes sense a few minutes later, when Rick opens a drawer and offers a long Georgia Tech nightshirt to Joan.

“There’s a bathroom back in the foyer,” he tells the girl. “Just leave your tea on that side table until you get back.”

As soon as Joan’s gone, Rick actually starts making up the bed, so Amanda steps in to help make the process faster. “This is Beth’s room, isn’t it?”

Rick blinks, frowning as he looks up. “Yeah. Where did you think she slept when she stayed the night?”

It’s one of those moments where Amanda wishes her faith in people was a quieter, nicer one, like Carol somehow manages even after years of hell with Ed. The hurt expression lasts only a moment before Rick locks it away, and there’s little warmth in his eyes when he reaches for the quilt and unfolds it onto the bed. He doesn’t say anything, though, just reaching for a set of pillows that had been hidden by the couch itself and tossing one to Amanda along with a pillow case.

The signs of Beth’s occupancy are more obvious now that Amanda actually looks. On the desk, there’s a stack of textbooks and a scattering of other books that definitely scream college student more than middle aged cop. The top of the dresser has baskets barely organizing the clutter, which includes several makeup items and a nice backlit mirror. Next to the dresser, she can see a shower kit like most college students use to carry toiletries to a group shared bathroom. 

“Rick?” She speaks softly, unsure when Joan will return, and he looks up from where he’s just settled his half of the pillows on the bed to join hers. He’s gritting his teeth, because she can see his jaw firm up like it did that night in the garage when she made her snide comments about the flirty neighbor. “I’m sorry.”

Whether or not he would reply in acceptance, she doesn’t know yet, because Joan reappears, and the tense expression fades as he smiles at the girl. “If you need anything, we’ll be right across the hall,” he tells Joan. “I don’t have to work tomorrow, but Amanda has to be up early for her shift.”

Joan nods, looking exhausted from her earlier crying. Rick motions for Amanda to leave the room, closing the door behind both of them. He sighs deeply, leading her across the hall. His room is as spacious as she expected, given the rest of the place, easily twice the size of her bedroom at home. The neatly made king sized bed is covered with a forest green comforter that is probably completely unneeded in August, but it matches the pillow shams and the rest of the decor in the room, like the small two-seater sofa in the alcove.

“Is that a sleeper sofa, too?” she asks. It’s on the small side if it is one, but it wouldn’t surprise her if it is.

Rick stiffens again, and he shakes his head. “It’s not. I didn’t see the need for one actually in my bedroom.” He runs a hand through his curls, sighing. “I’ll sleep in Carl’s room tonight. He’s at his mother’s anyway, or I would have told Gorman to piss off, case or no case.”

Guilt flickers in Amanda’s chest, and she reaches out to snag his elbow. It gets his attention on her instead of the Atlanta cityscape glittering beyond the wall of windows beyond the bed. “It’s a king sized bed, Rick. I think we can manage to share it without kicking you out of your own room.” It would mess with their cover with Joan, if the girl spotted Rick sleeping on the other side of the massive apartment, but that’s not her primary motive here. She has the feeling if Rick does sleep elsewhere to preserve whatever modesty he thinks she needs preserving, it’s going to sour their partnership in a way they can’t come back from.

This is about trusting him, and she’s already put a chip in that tonight.

Searching her eyes closely, Rick finally nods. “I need to shower.” 

It’s as close to acceptance as she thinks she’s going to get tonight, so Amanda smiles. “I’ll go get my bag while you do that.”

Rick disappears through a door, leaving her alone in the room. Even though her curiosity is definitely engaged after her previous jaunt through the room to the balcony, she goes to get her bag instead. The teapot is still on the counter, and noting how tidy the place always is, she rinses it out and leaves it in the gleaming little dish rack to dry. Her own empty beer bottle and Joan’s soda bottle both go into the recycling bin before she grabs her bag. 

Laying tomorrow’s uniform over the small sofa, she can hear the water running in the bathroom, so Rick’s still in the shower. She’s a little surprised when a quick check of where the alarm clock is shows her that Rick sleeps on the side of the bed closer to the bathroom than the windows. If she had that view, she would definitely sleep closest to it. Turning down the bed, she folds the comforter down to the foot like she’s seen in magazines. The high quality cotton sheets that are a lighter shade of green are really all they need for the night.

Switching on one of the bedside lamps after she plugs in her phone and its charger, Amanda turns off the overhead light and perches on the bed, studying the books in the headboard at last. Unlike the ones in the living room, which are hardcovers and almost nearly uniform in size, these are older books, as many paperbacks as hardbacks. Reaching for one, she expects something hardcore mystery, like Michael Connelly, or even the noir novels she’s had male coworkers recommend, but while it is a mystery, the novel seems to feature an insurance investigator with a psychic gift, not a cop of any sort.

Sliding that one back in the shelf, she selects another, also a mystery. It makes her smile, because Amanda’s actually been reading this series since high school. The librarian protagonist always intrigued Amanda, because she doesn’t seem like the sort to solve crimes. All ten novels are nestled into the bookshelf on Rick’s side of the bed, and one is a duplicate of the paperbacks, so she tugs it out to see that it’s an autographed copy.

She missed the shower turning off in her distraction with the books, so it startles her a little when Rick speaks. “There’s a bunch of movies made from that series.”

He’s smiling when she looks his way, seeming a little amused that she jumped when he spoke. His dark hair looks damp still, and he’s dressed in plaid pajama pants and a worn t-shirt that is probably an old father’s day gift, based on the ‘Nice to meet you, Hungry, I’m Dad’ printed across the chest.

“I’ve seen them, actually.” Admitting to the Hallmark movie watching is more natural when she’s holding an autographed copy of one of the novels. She eases the book back into its place and scoots back to her side of the bed.

“What time do you need to get up?” he asks as he sets his phone into a charging cradle on his side of the bed. 

“I’ve got an alarm set on my phone, but five thirty.” It’s his day off, so she hates that he’s going to have to hear the alarm. But as the junior most shift sergeant, she has to be there thirty minutes before shift starts to oversee the staggered clock ins of the officers. Half will clock in at 6:30 for their seven a.m. shift, and the other half will clock in at 7:15. They can’t allow for all the cops to be in transition at once.

“I’ll get up and get Joan settled into a cab around then,” Rick says. He yawns, and despite it being barely nine in the evening, she knows his day probably started as early as hers did, considering his commute.

Settling into bed is both weird and soothing at the same time. Rick even says a soft good night, rolling to his right side and facing away from her. Amanda echoes the sentiment, settling under the sheet and facing that pretty view. It seems to take her longer to fall asleep than it does him, probably because she can’t help but be aware that for the first time in three years, she’s not alone in the bed. They’re too high up to hear street noise like in her apartment.

It’s too quiet, she thinks, but eventually, she focuses on his quiet, even breathing, and the long day catches up with her. Tomorrow, they’ll turn over the new information to Shane and see if Eugene can work more magic. They can’t keep saving people one at a time from the predator masquerading in a law enforcement uniform. Her thoughts run a circle of their case, the sheer contradiction Rick keeps presenting, the view outside the windows, and back to the warmth at her back until finally, sleep claims her completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two like pushing things into an extra chapter beyond what I had planned/outlined. ;)
> 
> The morning after? Well, platonic bedsharing doesn't usually work when you're already intrigued by each other...


	10. Does Regret Have a Taste?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Amanda discover that sharing a bed platonically is more difficult that it seems, and their partnership gains another fracture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be part of chapter 9, but well, lots of smut happened? 🤭
> 
> Technically, this chapter should be rated "E", not "M", but I'm not gonna rate the whole story for it...

When Amanda wakes at three in the morning, she regrets her snooping curiosity that led her to forget to use the bathroom before bed. Rick’s asleep on his back now, breathing softly, and he doesn’t look anything like a man who’ll turn forty before the year’s out. Dark lashes any woman would envy stand out against his pale skin even in the dim light from the windows. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so relaxed, and he doesn’t move when she slides out of the bed. Before she goes into the bathroom, she peeks across the hall, finding Joan sound asleep as well. The girl is curled around the second of her pillows, and it makes Amanda angry all over again for her sake.

It would probably be more polite to use the small powder room in the foyer, but that same nagging curiosity has ahold of her. Slipping back through the bedroom lit only by the waning moon outside, she slides the door shut behind her quietly and flips on the light switch. Double sinks spring into brightness on her right, making her blink owlishly for a minute. To the left is a large walk-in closet, one door ajar. She can see a row of suits through the gap, but figures there’s curiosity and there’s just being nosy, so she passes the door without looking further.

The toilet is tucked into a little spot past the sinks, hidden from view by a partial wall, and she takes care of nature as she looks over the rest of the large bathroom. The shower next to it is large enough for three people, she thinks, but the jacuzzi tub is even more impressive. From the lack of any toiletries around the tub, she suspects it isn’t used at all, at least not by Rick. Beth obviously has to share either Rick or Carl’s bathroom, since the powder room doesn’t have a shower.

For all that Beth has an obvious place in the apartment in the den, there’s no sign of her here. Rick’s cologne, electric razor, and toothbrush holder are all that grace the sink closest to the bedroom, along with a refillable soap dispenser. Washing her hands, she isn’t surprised to find the soap is strongly scented for citrus. She prefers the same to get the lingering odor from gun oil off her own hands. Rick might be the first single man she’s ever seen who actually has hand towels in his personal bathroom, though, cute powder blue things with an embroidered lighthouse on the hem.

Turning the light off plunges her into the dark before she slides the pocket door back open. Rick doesn’t seem to have moved from his spot, so she rounds the bed to slide back under the sheet. Sleep proves elusive again until she ends up rolling to her right side, like she normally goes to sleep. With Rick asleep, it doesn’t seem as weird to be facing him. He’s kicked the sheet mostly away, and with his shirt riding up in his sleep, she gets a glimpse of dark hair against pale skin against the flat planes of his belly. 

The reminder of just how silky soft that hair is makes her fingers twitch, and she decides facing him is probably not a good idea. Back on her left side, she lies awake until exhaustion claims her.

~*~*~*~

When Rick wakes, it’s still dark in the room, and it takes him a minute to register the strangeness of another body pressed close to him in bed. He hasn’t slept beside anyone in close to two years. It was a rough lesson, early on, that overnights led to more attachment than he was prepared for, the sort of lesson most men learned in their twenties. He’d been married through that time period, and no matter how unhappy he and Lori were at times, the one thing he’d never done was stray.

Even without the memory of summoning Amanda in a panic last night, he would know it’s her. Falling asleep last night, the width of the bed didn’t hide that sweet scent of whatever shampoo she uses. It was only decades of sleeping whenever he could thanks to a cop’s shift that made him ignore the mild arousal it caused enough to go to sleep. Having her here is unearthing the loneliness he’s kept hidden since the divorce, and it’s the first time he wishes she were one of those women who got easily attached. It felt… appropriate… to have her beside him last night, falling asleep together like it was an every night occurrence.

His right hand finds the edge of the bed, so he at least held to his promise the bed was big enough. The one who migrated in the night was the one who would object to how close they are if she were awake. She’s draped across his chest, tucked into the crook of his arm, and his hand is thankfully against her hip and not her ass. Just thinking about it makes last night’s mild interest return in full force, something that certainly isn’t helped as he registers her leg over his is tucked neatly against the part of him now fully awake and aware.

Turning his head, he checks the clock, relieved to see that it’s just past five. Waking her now won’t be as awful as it could be. Letting his left hand drift to the bed, he reaches out with his right hand and shakes her shoulder gently. “Amanda?”

She’s alert instantly, too much a cop herself not to wake quickly when required. “Is something wrong?”

Rick doesn’t need to answer, because her brain catches up to how they’re laying almost as soon as she gets the last word out. Jesus, he regrets it as she rolls away, because he’s as aware of her now as he was when she called a halt to things on the couch that night. There’s no way she missed it, and as prickly as she was about things when they were both aware and awake, he fully expects this to piss her off despite him not being the sleep cuddler.

“Dammit. I’m sorry, Rick.”

The apology startles him enough that he rolls to his side to get a better look at her after touching the lamp to bring dim light to the room. She’s sitting up, pushing her hair back from her face and looking embarrassed as hell. “It’s okay,” he tells her softly.

“I was an ass last night, and then…” She sighs and tucks her arms around her legs. “It’s been a long time since I slept with anyone.”

He’s not sure if she means literally sleep or something more and figures asking will get him in hot water with her. “Like I said, it’s okay.”

But she doesn’t seem reassured, so he raises up to an elbow. “Amanda? I meant it. It happened, and I’m not going to take it for more than just what it was. You’re a beautiful woman, but you’re not interested in me. I accept that.”

Those green eyes focus on him finally, instead of staring at the books in the headboard. It isn’t until she leans in for a kiss that he realizes she might not be upset that she woke up to using him for a pillow. The cautious part of his brain tells him that he’s likely to deal with a whirlwind of her changing her mind, but the rest is wholly on board with the part of him that remembers what it’s like to have his hands exploring the curves that are now pressed against him as he pulls her closer, tumbling her prone on the bed.

Her hands are under his shirt, tracing along his chest, and he pulls away enough to tug the shirt off to give her better access. “What do you want?” Rick asks, grasping for control. This backfired on him once already. He has to ask.

“You.” The husky quality to her voice breaks that last vestige of self-restraint, and he’s tugging at her shirt. It’s some all-in-one thing with a built in bra, so once she helps him get it over her head, he’s got her bare breasts in front of him again. She reacts just like before when he seeks out the tempting peaks, pressing his head to her with fingers tangled in his hair. The difference this time is that she’s not astride his lap, so he’s free to keep moving along her skin.

They don’t have time for what he really desires right now, because somewhere in kissing and exploring, it’s damn near five thirty. The last thing he wants is her to regret this because she’s late to work and embarrassed. Amanda protests at first, when he presses one last kiss between her breasts and trails more to her belly, but then she quiets as he looks up to her, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her running shorts. 

“What I want is to taste you,” he tells her. Her eyes widen and she plants her feet, lifting her hips so that he can remove shorts and panties both.

“Rick, you don’t have to…” 

Apparently the key to ending that sentence is to show her it is most certainly not a ‘have to’. Her strong thighs seek purchase he doesn’t allow as he does exactly what he told her he wanted. She’s already soaking wet, needing no foreplay for his fingers to join lips and tongue, while his free hand stays on one of her knees, keeping her on view to his attentions. As aroused as she is, it doesn’t surprise him when there’s a muttered curse as her hips buck rhythmically.

He doesn’t stop until she pushes him away, and he watches as she sprawls near bonelessly, body trembling. The dim light from the lamp makes her skin glow, and he strokes a hand along the inside of her knee, marveling in how soft her skin is. He told her she was beautiful before, and he meant it, but seeing her like this, knowing he made her feel like that? Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word, and he wishes he had time to feel her around him. He thinks it would be goddamn spectacular to be inside her when she falls apart like that and to see her eyes on him as she does. 

~*~*~*~

By the time Amanda’s brain reboots, she doesn’t quite understand why Rick is so far away until she realizes he’s made no move to remove his pajama pants. Feeling a little guilty that she’s barely even touched him, yet can’t feel her own fucking toes, she tamps down on shyness and sheer inexperience that threatens to make her hesitate and reaches for his waistband. Neither of her former boyfriends she actually slept with ever wanted to go down on her, whereas Rick did it like it was all he wanted.

She brushes aside his hand that was gripped around his own aroused flesh, feeling a slickness against her fingers. It takes her a minute that he was using the same hand he’d just been stroking inside her with, even as his eyes close with a groan with her first stroke. He feels so warm, nothing left hidden as her hand slides along satiny, heated skin that she couldn’t get to the night on the couch when she was so wanton. A glance at the clock tells her that riding him until he’s as lost to the world as she just was isn’t really in the cards, but from the way he’s moving in conjunction to her slow strokes, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Rick’s hand curls around hers as his eyes open. There’s barely a rim of blue around his pupils. “Like this,” he gets out just as the adjusted grip makes him groan. “Oh, Christ, yes.” 

It takes her a half dozen strokes before he’s spilling over her hand, hips bucking just like hers had. He doesn’t seem to nearly black out like she did, instead dragging her down on top of him to kiss her. It’s as heated as how they started this, and for once, she doesn’t mind that the evidence of his orgasm is now trapped between them. She can taste herself on his lips, and regrets that she didn’t return the favor.

She can do that another time.

The thought is sobering, her brain finally coming back from the haze of arousal followed by a better orgasm than she’s managed in years on her own. Regret spills through her, not for giving into the temptation to feel his hands on her again, but because Rick seems to know her mood changed. He’s no longer relaxed and satiated, although one hand trails slowly down her spine, even as she moves away from him.

“Amanda.”

She’s just had sex with a man she’s not even dating. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t full intercourse, but it’s against every rule she ever set for herself. Her mother got pregnant at fifteen and couldn’t even name a father. The one promise Amanda has always held herself to is that she would never just casually bed any man. Instead, she woke up with her body just aching for want of the man next to her, and she had to know. 

“Amanda.” Rick’s tone is hurt now, just like it’s been before because of her. 

It would have been easier, actually, if he’d sunk himself inside her, because it would be just rutting around. Lust. Instead, he focused on her and her alone at first. It doesn’t fit with the mental image of a man who only wants sex with no strings attached. Turning, she faces him, finally.

“I know you don’t do casual sex.” That’s not what she expected him to say. “What happens next? That’s up to you.” He sits up and reaches for her hand. She lets him take it, feeling the gentle grip even as she tries to work out the puzzle that Rick Grimes always ends up being for her.

“I don’t know that this is a good idea.” She doesn’t fit into this world, not other than as a friend. 

He swallows hard. “Alright. If that’s what you want, then I guess this never happened.” For all of his accepting words, he still moves in for a kiss. It’s short, holding none of the heat of earlier kisses.

Amanda wonders if regret has an actual taste. Rick leaves the bed, retrieving his shirt and wiping away the evidence of their encounter from his stomach.

“You can shower in there. I’ll go borrow Carl’s bathroom. Should be plenty of hot water.”

Before she can find any words to sooth over the actual hurt and regret that seems to hover in a cloud around the man, he’s gone. She’s left sitting in a bed where the sheets are scented with the combination of them together, desperately trying to tell herself that now she knows… and it can’t happen again.

~*~*~*~

Cold showers are supposed to be what he needs when his body didn’t get to find release, not what he does after an orgasm that was pretty damned perfect. Rick leans against the cool surface of the shower, letting it chill his back even as the shower’s chilly spray turns the front of his body nearly blue. It was too good to be true, having her to ask for him, to initiate things between them when there was no show to be put on display.

He can still smell her on his skin and reaches for the harsher scented bar of soap instead of borrowing Carl’s body wash. It rids him of that scent that conjures up the images of her relaxed and trusting him, but it doesn’t cleanse his mind as easily. Last night felt too good, knowing someone was there beside him, someone who actually understood about early shifts, being on-call, and the need to keep doing a job that meant each day meant you might not come home.

How in the hell does he easily face Amanda, after she’s pushed him away again? Especially after they’ve actually crossed the line they did this morning? He likes to think it isn’t hurt pride, that he’s not that petty. But even as he shuts the water off and fumbles for a towel, he just stands there dripping and just doesn’t understand why she finds it so easy to turn away, when he can’t get the way she makes him feel out of his head.

When Rick sees himself in the mirror, his haggard expression is weirdly an echo of those lost months between that last horrible fight with Lori and the day the court made everything final. That chills him worse than the shower did, so he thrusts the thought far into the dark recesses of his mind. Amanda doesn’t want him. He’s just a temptation that keeps fouling up the path she’s on, and the sooner he stops forgetting that, the better off they’ll both be.

The living room and kitchen are still in shadow when he heads back to find clothes, since he only has his bathrobe with him. Pausing to start the coffee pot, he notices the rinsed teapot and spares a moment of regret for the domesticity of Amanda helping out like that. As soon as there’s enough coffee brewed, he pours a mug full and heads for his room. Just because the morning went to hell on a personal level, doesn’t mean Amanda doesn’t have a long day ahead of her, full of shitty precinct coffee and paperwork. 

Rick really should have expected to find the bedroom empty and Amanda’s things gone. He really should have, but he didn’t, so it’s a bit of a punch to the gut. Setting the coffee mug down on his nightstand, he goes to confirm his suspicions… the shower stall is dry as a bone. Amanda must have fled as soon as he was in the other shower. He’s left staring at the rumpled bedsheets, evidence of what could have been a damn good morning for both of them.

It makes him irrationally fucking angry, especially with the scent of sex clinging to the sheets, so he drags them off the bed with erratic motions. By the time he gets them in the washing machine in the utility room, he’s shaking with the force of anger and a sense of loss he just shouldn’t be feeling. This is why departments either discourage or outright ban partners from romantic entanglements, because how he feels right now? It’s battering his resolve to ignore what happened and concentrate on being partners. He’s suddenly glad for the respite of Amanda being at work all day.

There are too many victims depending on them for this bullshit to be clouding his brain. By the time he has to see her again, he’ll have his head on straight, he promises himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I might hold the chapter a few days and post it later when I'm bottlenecked on other stories, but alas, some Anonymous Brat on FFnet decided they could order me NOT to write this story and concentrate on others they actually like to read.
> 
> Alas, Ornery is my middle name as a writer, so enjoy your early smut, my readers. 😉


	11. Like Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more details for the case unfold, Rick and Amanda struggle with their partnership after their morning in bed together.

Rick is having one of those Mondays that make him regret his job is more administrative than hands on these days. He's been here since seven, and it feels like the paperwork is multiplying, not reducing. His detectives were busy over the weekend. Nothing that required his direct attention at the time, but successful closing of cases generates more paperwork than them staying open, it feels like.

Amanda had certainly left him twisting in the wind Saturday. Thankfully Joan is a little more naive than Beth despite her unfortunate situation, so she accepted the early call into work excuse readily. Rick fed the girl breakfast, gently inquiring into the extent of her financial difficulty.

It's such a bullshit issue. Joan's parents make just enough money to knock her out of the running for the majority of the state funding available. Until she turns 24, has a child, or marries, she's tied to their finances for federal aid. The parents are doing all they can, but her mother has cancer, and that's an expensive damn disease even with insurance.

He hadn't bothered to try to call Amanda, instead texting her that he returned his gift after breakfast. Instead of stewing about his mistakes with his prickly partner, he met with Yumiko about their ongoing plan for the main family trust when it comes entirely into his control at the end of November. The attorney isn't in the loop for the investigation, but he's pretty sure they'll have this wrapped up before more of his finances get potentially revealed under his own name.

Glancing at the time, he sighs. Eugene sent a message earlier needing an appointment to 'upgrade his computer system'. It means the computer tech has the in-depth information he's been digging for since Sunday, once Rick visited Jesus's shelter for an off the record meeting with the man's husband while helping them sort a major food pantry donation. So Rick texted Amanda a lunch invitation since it's her day off, unsure if she would even accept until she replied with a time.

She did seem a bit terse about him texting Sunday night about his volunteer shift. Ordinarily, he might have invited her, but he didn't want to be in close contact with her so soon after their disaster of a Saturday morning. He hasn't even managed to tell Shane they tumbled past the damn line, as much as he knows he needs to.

Logging off his computer, because he's about ninety percent certain Eugene really will upgrade something while he shares his information, Rick hears the lunchtime shuffle happening out in the squad room. He heads out to collect his part of the order, taking the time to shoot the breeze with Dianne about her husband and kids. It kills time until Eugene appears with Amanda at his heels. Taking the two bags, Rick follows.

Eugene settles into Rick's chair, fingers swift on the keyboard just as he expected. He'd declined being added to the lunch order, so Rick hands one bag off to Amanda. Her expression is cool and distant, so Rick doesn't take the seat next to her in front of his desk. Going around his desk, he turns the mini-fridge he finally brought to the office into a temporary stool.

"If you two get any more frigid in here, we can set up an ice rink," Eugene muses. He doesn't look at either of them, adjusting his glasses as something starts running an installation progress bar on the computer screen. "You should probably just sleep together and get it out of your system."

Rick stiffens, spork paused over the avocado and chickpea pasta salad Dianne brought. If the unhealed fracture in their partnership is obvious to Eugene, it would be like a neon sign to anyone else. Amanda is looking between him and the other man, her own cheeseburger already three bites gone. Her green eyes narrow, and he can see her temper igniting.

"Eugene, have you attended the workplace harassment seminar yet?" Rick manages to voice. Jesus Christ, it's inappropriate as hell for the intern to say, and thankfully Amanda isn't actually a department employee.

It gets him an owlish blink as Eugene considers what he said. "I did not intend to say that second part out loud."

From the man's growing flush, Rick actually believes him. "You need to take care with that kind of thing."

It gets him a jerky nod from Eugene, and Amanda relaxes, but not until after she glares at Rick. Taking a deep breath, Rick returns to his food for a moment before asking, "What did you find for us?"

Eugene takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk, focussing on his hands instead of either of them. His voice is a little monotone when he speaks. "Major Walsh got the warrants needed. I was able to pull financials on all four targeted officers. Three have a pattern of unexplained cash deposits, none large enough for the bank to show alarm. The lieutenant appears to be clean, at least as far as any financial gains."

He puts his glasses back on and reaches for a folder among a stack he brought in, passing it to Amanda after an uncertain look at Rick. "I should offer an addendum that the lieutenant may simply be smarter than the underlings and not depositing cash. The men are sloppy, although Gorman less so once he did some larger spending about six months ago."

Eugene passes a different folder to Rick. "Background checks on all four. The major suggested you look closely at Lieutenant Lerner's college degree."

Opening the folder, Rick flips past the men's information to flip through Lerner's stellar record with the Atlanta Police Department. "Jesus. Why is a woman with an MBA from Emory University working as a police department?"

"There are a lot of officers with degrees. It gets you a pay bonus." Amanda frowns, looking up from the larger folder she's perusing. 

"How many of those got their graduate level degree from one of the most expensive universities in the country? Emory costs as much as MIT or Harvard."

"Maybe she has family money. Where's yours from, Grimes?"

The surname stings, but Rick feels a small surge of pleasure in his reply. "Middle Georgia State."

"Criminal justice?" she asks, arching a brow.

Rick knows that was her degree, one she worked hard for according to Daryl. All Amanda ever wanted to be was a cop. He shakes his head. "History."

Eugene sighs deeply, drawing both of their attention. "Lieutenant Lerner had a scholarship for her undergraduate degree and a fellowship for her graduate. All very easy to find with something as simple as Google. She worked for an investment company for two years and joined the department after 9/11."

"Admirable," Rick murmurs, flipping through the woman's information. "Never married, no kids, no family remaining in Georgia. She could be clean and just unwilling to balk male officers if she wants to keep climbing the ladder."

Amanda's shoulders slump, even as she closes her own folder and offers it to Rick. "Or she could be running the whole damn thing. She's smart and ambitious, and if she was a scholarship student, she would know exactly how tricky financing an education is if you're neither rich nor poor."

Trading her folders even though he hasn't finished reading his, Rick nods. If there's a cop that outranks Gorman running the escort service, it would explain just how bold he's becoming. "They're running it cleaner than you'd expect. Girls really can leave or decline work if their school schedules demand it. There's even a goddamned bonus for grades." And hadn't that been a horrifying tidbit of information to learn.

"Seriously?" Amanda sounds as incredulous as Rick would be if he hadn't heard it from Joan himself. Illegal sex work offering education bonuses sounds like some twisted movie plot.

"Joan generated enough cash last semester to take summer classes. She said her A in Premodern Japan class netted her the same fee an evening's work would."

Amanda bows her head, thinking hard over something. "It sells the illusion to clients of smart, educated coeds if they really are doing well in school, doesn't it? Men who want an escort are wanting a companion for the evening, to pretend they're better than a john soliciting a hooker on the street."

"And women." Rick's words get Amanda's attention. "Couples are extra, remember? I can imagine women willing to pay for that fantasy would appreciate being able to pretend it's different as well."

"It is also a significant recruiting tool," Eugene interjects, causing them to break their impromptu staring contest. He shrugs and taps his last folder. "Everyone knows to be afraid of sex traffickers on college campuses. There is all sorts of information provided. But this is set up like whoever did it read one of those pamphlets and deliberately avoided any warning signs."

As much as it turns his stomach, Rick has to admit he has a point. They got Joan hooked on the money and the psychology, and even after she realized the real intent was sex, not companionship, she hadn't been truly horrified until she caught Gorman's attention. "The girls do the recruiting for them. Joan even admits she brought in two other girls she knew were struggling."

"Those poor girls," Amanda mutters. 

Eugene sighs, fidgeting with his folder. "It's not just girls. There's half a dozen young men involved, too, based on my email harvest. Gorman exchanges a lot of emails with someone who seems to be the boss. Whoever the boss is? Their preference is the boys, not the girls. I can't determine if the boss is male or female. They are very careful to never identify the boss even by pronouns."

He lets them settle that into their brains before continuing. "Joan has officially left their employment as of this morning. The boss ordered Gorman to strike her from any more work as of this morning."

"Is she okay?" Amanda asks in alarm, reaching for that last folder and skimming the first printed page. She looks up, staring at Rick. "She was awarded a grant covering the remainder of her tuition and expenses through graduation."

Rick keeps his expression carefully bland. "Maybe she can't be a teacher, but there's plenty of other work she can do with that history degree."

If the breakfast conversation had ended with his suggestions about using her education for museum or archival work, Amanda forfeited her right to know the personal details by leaving the way she did. Shane cautiones this case could take two or three months to completely build, and the idea of Joan continuing to work when he could fix it anonymously made Rick want to crawl right out of his skin. He can't save them all, not yet, but he can save the girl who lost her haunted look as she debated the history and architecture of the Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba with him.

"Shane says you can return the folders to him. If anyone asks why Amanda keeps visiting, we're trying to recruit her for the opening in the school resource officer program. Sheriff thinks we need a woman involved." Whatever is running on Eugene's computer blips that it's done, and the technician removes a thumb drive from the port and stands up. "I have a class this afternoon. If you need anything, Jesus is always needing an extra set of hands on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and he's hopeful you'll help out again, Lieutenant."

They both nod and watch Eugene leave. Rick settles in his chair, sorting through the financials in more detail. When he doesn't hear any papers rustling across from him, he looks up to see Amanda's stony expression. "What?" he asks, despite knowing what it probably is.

She sighs, a deep, chest shaking sound that makes him keep his eyes carefully on hers and away from the tempting sight the movement likely causes in her civilian clothing. "Why didn't you call me before you went to Jesus's shelter again?"

Rick leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "Didn't think you wanted to be part of the follow-up once you weren't part of talking to Joan in the morning."

She gapes, clamping her mouth shut quickly. He can practically see her counting to ten before she speaks again. "That's petty, dammit, Rick."

He just shrugs. "So was running out of there the way you did. It was five minutes to talk to Eugene in private. No point in us both going. The rest was just sorting groceries for their week's meals. Nothing you needed to lose free time over, and I called you for the results."

Amanda doesn't care for his answer, but he's saved by Dianne knocking on the door. He motions for the sergeant to come in, and the older woman spares only a quick glance for Amanda. "Some dumbass stole the school superintendent's SUV and drove it into the duck pond at the park. They're wanting you and me both on this. Idiot VIPs."

Rick sighs, taking the folders Amanda offers him. Although Dianne's his chosen successor and likely rock solid trustworthy, he remembers the additional cover Shane added. "I'll text you later this afternoon to schedule another meeting. Think over the community resource project, okay? It could be a good fit for the right person, and the major thinks that's you."

Amanda nods, tidying away her trash and passing it to him when he gestures. "That sounds just fine." She leaves without a glance back.

Dianne does react to that. "That one's going to need surgical removal for the stick up her ass. Not sure she's a good recruit for whatever new community policing program Walsh is up to, if she can't manage a meeting with you."

"Why me?" Rick feels bad, because Amanda's issue with him is personal, but admitting that would be worse than a professional personality clash.

"Hate to break it to you, Grimes, but you're a bit of a puppy as far as male cops are concerned. If she can't handle you? I don't see her making retirement anywhere there's not a dire need for warm bodies who can pass the psych eval."

"It's probably just nerves. No one likes to consider leaving the department that got them started." Rick reaches for his jacket. "Guess we're off to intimidate whichever teenager has a beef with the superintendent this week."

Dianne shrugs. "That's the part they don't tell you about rank, isn't it, sir? Just exactly how many prima donnas you have to soothe."

Smiling weakly, he follows his sergeant out of the office, putting aside the issue with Amanda for now. He'll sort it out later, preferably before they manage to put up any more walls that end their partnership before they get the case closed.

~*~*~*~

Amanda hasn't had such a thoroughly shitty week on the job since her rookie days. After the frigidly polite meeting with Rick, she'd gotten called in to cover an evening shift for another sergeant whose wife went into labor. 

The shift involved multiple officer response to a nasty domestic that ended with the woman in ICU and her husband dead by suicide. Amanda felt selfishly glad the bastard had done it himself, rather than putting any of her officers through the upheaval of having to shoot him. She consoled herself with at least the woman being free, even if she has a lot of recovery ahead.

Tuesday adds an SUV versus motorcycle accident to the list. She can't help but feel a cold shiver cross her body in that type of accident. Her brothers ride regularly, with Daryl still keeping her sleek little Ninja garaged for her for when she can join them. Even the sight of the crumpled Honda, something her brothers would never ride, still reminds her how dangerous the hobby can be.

Wednesday, she goes on site to help take witness statements after two teenagers steal a car and crash it into a cell phone store. Thankfully, no one inside got seriously hurt, but the passenger was ejected. The fifteen year old reminds her a bit of Carl… and he'll never walk again.

Thursday almost makes the exception, until Gorman invites her to join the other sergeants on their shift for basketball and burgers after shift. It's the first time she's ever been invited, and she can't decline. Even Lamson normally goes, and she sees her former partner's eyes narrow at her acceptance, studying her and Gorman both all evening. She reminds herself that none of the other sergeants pinged anything on Eugene's search and ignores Lamson's watchfulness.

Friday is just a complete shitshow, start to finish. It's Labor Day weekend, and holidays always make everyone lose their mind. It's a double shift for her, and she should be exhausted enough to sleep. Instead, as she lays in bed, her mind goes to Rick, again.

The other cop has been so coldly polite that it makes last Saturday morning seem like something she imagined. They met Wednesday after work at the vegetarian place they'd visited before, but it lacked all the warm sense of burgeoning partnership the first visit had. He went over the interrupted paperwork in detail with her, discussed the need to find the boss… and eliminate the possibility that it's Dawn Lerner. 

It was a completely professional conversation, exactly what she'd asked of him. As he gathered his paperwork, Rick showed the only crack in the remote facade. 

"Carl really liked going to the game with you. He wanted to know if you would take him again sometime." Rick didn't look at her as he asked, gazing out the window to the parking lot. "Braves are in town this weekend. I can get the tickets."

The question stunned her a little, but she's not avoiding personal situations with Carl, just his father. "I'm working tomorrow, and I've got a family thing Sunday."

"They're in town through Tuesday."

"Alright. If you can lay hands on tickets, I'll take him Monday."

It got her a ghost of a smile that only barely thawed the chill his blue eyes held. "I'll text you the details." He left without even a goodbye.

Every night since, she's woken from dreams of Saturday morning, but the dreams don't stop with what actually happened. Ignoring the heat they ignite in her body doesn't work, either. Her own fingers don't help either, not enough. Groaning, she falls asleep at last, both dreading and anticipating waking again.

Saturday is so mundane that she spends the day waiting on something uglier than DUIs and shoplifting, but the crazy holds off. It'll probably spill out onto evening shift, but at least she makes it out the door at three. Between the work week and her broken sleep at night, she doesn't feel like going home or the gym. 

Instead, she aims for the pool, managing to swim off some of the anxiety plaguing her still. In leaving the athletic club, she spies a familiar face. The man's tall, muscular body is leaned against her car, and he grins brightly.

"I thought that was you swimming like you were heading for the Olympics. Then I spotted this old clunker and knew for sure."

"Tyreese, when did you get into town? How long are you visiting Sasha?" He's a bright spot in her otherwise weary week. They've gone out a few times, but nothing serious because Ty's football career led him to be traded before they figured out if there was a future to it.

"Guess Sasha's so busy with the new baby she forgot to tell you? I retired."

"Are you okay?" Amanda scans his athletic form, but she sees nothing out of place. She hasn't spoken to Sasha much since she had her baby in June. It's harder now to maintain the friendship with the firefighter since she's moved to a larger apartment with her husband.

"It was just time. Got a job here in town." He eases away from her car. "Are you free for dinner?"

Amanda's first instinct is to say no, but she does like Tyreese, and he's always been the sort of self-taught gentleman she likes. He couldn't be more Rick's opposite if he tried. "That sounds good."

Hours later, she finds herself laying in the same place as the night before, equally as frustrated. Tyreese hasn't changed a bit. He's still the sweet guy with clever hands, who kisses like he could make it a profession. It also killed her theory that some ticking biological clock is behind her unusually wanton reactions.

The fledgling attraction she had for Ty is well and truly gone. All she felt sitting astride his lap, with all that lovely skin beneath her hands, was that he just wasn't Rick. Thank God he understood.

The difference between last night and tonight is the bottle of vodka she unearthed from her freezer. Four shots in, and she can't decide if she's going to sleep or aim for another boring, barely there orgasm. Instead, she rolls for her cell phone and dials.

Amanda doesn't expect Rick to answer. She's seen Carl's Facebook photos, and Rick had taken Sophia, Carl, and Beth to Six Flags. He hadn't stood around like many dads, either. Some of the photos had him on the roller coasters along with the rest.

"Amanda? Everything good?" Rick asks, that soft, cultured drawl still sounding like something out of some period film and not from a county deputy. Carl doesn't speak the same way, so she wonders where it comes from.

It's the concern in his voice that almost stops what she intends to say. "You're an asshole."

Rick is quiet long enough she peers at her phone to see if he's hung up. Seeing that it's ten past midnight makes her flinch a little. When she settles the phone to her ear again, she hears him sigh. "Bad week?"

No comment about her calling him an asshole. He sounds concerned still. Imagining him stretched out in that big bed makes her body flush in a way that Tyreese did not. "Yeah."

There's a rustling and the sound of a door closing. "Talk to me, Amanda. What's wrong?"

That's what breaks her resolve to be angry with him. The long stressful week pours out, all the things she wasn't dumping on Tyreese after not seeing him for nearly a year. She's so tired and so fucking lonely that it's not even sex she wants tonight, not anymore. The nagging self doubt of whether she is actually doing any good is gaping around her like a chasm, just waiting on her to fall.

When she's done, he clears his throat softly. "You're a good cop, Amanda, or it wouldn't crawl under your skin like that. It's when you stop feeling like this after a week like that I'd be worried."

"That sounds like you've been there."

If it takes them two hours to say goodbye, Rick doesn't seem to mind. Amanda fumbles her phone onto the charging base and curls around her pillow. When she dreams of Rick again, it's not rutting and lust this time. Instead it's hearing the voice of her partner, talking softly in her ear, slowly fading all the anxiety of the week away, like magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carol's baby shower didn't make this chapter. She's gonna be pregnant forever, poor woman. 👶
> 
> Brief cameo of a not-rival for Rick... Alas, no fun for Tyreese.


	12. Stay Safe Out There Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda attends Carol's baby shower and runs into multiple matchmaking attempts unexpectedly, while Rick reflects on Carl growing up a better man than he was at the same age.

The last thing Amanda expects to see when she is looking for a parking spot along the residential street Daryl and Lori live on is the canary yellow Mustang belonging to Rick Grimes. He knows Carol, obviously, because of Sophia, but single men don’t generally attend baby showers to her knowledge. As luck would have it, the best spot to park is parallel in front of it, so she eases her Honda into the spot and sighs.

Embarrassment heats her cheeks. Calling Rick last night while under the influence of vodka was a silly college girl move, one she hadn’t made even when she was in college. Instead of hanging up or telling her to fuck off and hanging up, like any sane person would have done, he somehow linked it to her having a bad week and made everything feel better. It didn’t stop her from wanting to put in for a transfer to the most remote town in Alaska when she woke up this morning, though.

It’ll be worse if she cancels on the baby shower, so she reaches for her gift bag and a grocery bag of chips and dip in the passenger seat and heads to the house. If she’s lucky, she’ll know someone other than Lori and Carol in here, although she hasn’t really socialized with Carol’s friends before. Her sister-in-law doesn’t have any extended family, so Amanda’s a little curious who might be attending.

The door is opened by Sophia, who grins widely and drags her inside and into an enthusiastic hug at the same time. “Oh thank God, someone under forty besides me and Beth!” she exclaims, but giggles to show she’s teasing.

Beth being at the shower isn’t something Amanda expects, and she wonders if she’s missed something in the communication somewhere. Maybe it’s because she works for Merle and indirectly for Carol. Carol does run the kitchen at the bar, normally, even though she owns her own bakery on the outskirts of Atlanta.

“Don’t let Lori hear you say that, missy,” Amanda teases absently. Lori’s older than Daryl by a few years, but she hasn’t hit forty, yet.

“Or Mama. She’s not forty until February, you know.” Sophia tows her toward the dining room, which has the table set up as a buffet. The teenager sorts the chips into the spot with the rest of the unopened bags and plunks the dip down near the others. “Gifts go in the living room. That’s where the ladies are. Kids and men are hiding out back.”

Part of Amanda thinks out back sounds better than the baby shower, but she needs to at least put in an appearance. When they get to the living room, Sophia snags the gift bag to add to the pile of similar items, leaving Amanda to brave the room of about fifteen women. She only recognizes three other than her niece: Carol, who looks like she could deliver the baby right here and now; Lori, who is setting up some sort of baby shower type game; and Beth, who is perched on the arm of an armchair where a woman sits who looks enough like her that it has to be Beth’s mother.

That adds to the wrinkle that Beth’s here because of Merle. Amanda hadn’t realized Beth’s mother knew Carol somehow. The blonde is actually the first to greet Amanda, waving cheerfully and calling her name, which draws everyone else’s attention.

Lori smiles brightly. “Oh good. Just one more, and everyone’s here.” She introduces Amanda to the group, and her guess was right that the woman next to Beth is her mother, Annette. The rest of the women are a blur of names, although none from the bar, two are from Carol’s bakery.

Sophia is obviously playing greeter, because she’s disappeared when the doorbell rings by the time Amanda navigates the room to give Carol a hug. She angles for a folding chair at the outskirts of the gathering, hoping whatever games Lori has planned aren’t too outrageous, although the little tray tables set up for every seat tell her something’s planned. Surely she’s too refined to do one of those godawful baby poop games that Amanda’s seen on social media.

“Well, hello, Amanda.” Hearing Michonne’s voice is a little startling, so Amanda turns to see that the pretty lawyer is navigating by her to reach Carol and hug her with happy greetings. Turning, Amanda sees Shane and Andre, with the deputy in casual dress hefting a fairly large box that he sets down among the gifts and salutes the ladies. Andre copies the motion.

“Boys and the kiddos are out back, if y’all are staying instead of chauffeuring,” Lori tells him, going to give the man a hug.

“Ruby is here, right?” Andre asks, looking excited. When Lori nods, the boy dashes off, leaving all the adults laughing. Shane just grins and follows, seeming happy to escape the fripperies of the baby shower.

“We might as well just start planning that wedding now,” Carol tells Michonne. “Although Merle swears she’s not dating until she’s at least forty. Thinks he’ll be too old to notice by then.”

“He woke me up at five a.m. asking if today was the party day,” Michonne admits, before taking the seat next to Amanda. “We should probably set up some sort of regular play date. Maybe the kids can spend a weekend out at our place when the baby comes. Give you some one on one time with the baby.”

Lori nods as she plunks bags of marshmallows, a baby bottle, a clean nasal aspirator, and a small, butt naked baby doll in front of each person. Amanda definitely isn’t sure this game is going to be fun, but at least it isn’t a poop game. “We’re taking them while Carol’s in the hospital. Maybe we trade off weekends after?”

The interaction is so casually done that Amanda feels almost overwhelmed. Growing up, it had been just her and Daryl and Mama McGinley for years, although the old woman had never turned Merle away when he drifted by to visit while they still lived with her. It’s a bit of a lonely reminder, though, because for all their rough beginnings, both of her brothers are happily married and expanding their families. She also feels a little left out, because offering to babysit the kids hadn’t even occurred to her. Maybe it’s a mother thing, to think of that sort of offer.

Pushing the thought aside to figure out something more helpful than diapers, wipes, and a couple of cute onesies, Amanda sets out to survive these baby shower games for now. “Hey, Lori? What’s the baby for?” she asks, eying it warily. Hers has bright green eyes.

Her sister-in-law grins. “You have to keep up with it all afternoon. If you put the baby down, someone else can claim it.”

Amanda eyes the doll, which is too big for a pocket, and sighs as she tries to figure out how to hold it. Michonne nudges her. “Give it a ride along.”

When Amanda glances over, the lawyer has perched the doll inside the neckline of her shirt, so that the brown eyed baby is peeking over the edge of her blouse. She winks at Amanda before eating a handful of the mini marshmallows that Lori is explaining are supposed to be picked up with the aspirator and dropped into the bottle. Figuring the other woman has a good idea, she sticks hers inside her shirt to perch on her bra.

By the time Amanda survives three shower games, sneaking away doesn’t seem quite as impolite. Michonne’s dastardly good at the babysitting game, because when Amanda claims she needs the bathroom and escapes, the lawyer has two more babies joining her first tiny passenger. Instead of the bathroom, she aims for the kitchen and eyes the backyard, wondering if Lori or Carol will really care if she heads outside instead.

The back door opens, with Shane slipping inside. He smiles at her, friendly as he’s always been. “Tired of the games already?”

“I think baby shower games are more something that entertains after you’ve had a baby or two.” She caught enough of the discussion to know that other than Beth and Sophia, she’s the only unmarried one at the party, and the only married woman without kids is six months pregnant.

“You’re probably right. Surely they aren’t all as bad as that one,” he says, waving a hand toward her t-shirt.

She’d completely forgotten the little doll, but laughs and pats it on the head. “I’m afraid if I fail the babysitting game, neither Carol nor Lori will let me near the babies when they arrive. Michonne’s managed to snitch two extras by now.”

Shane laughs, looking entirely amused. “Baby fever, I guess,” he comments, but doesn’t elaborate before Lori bustles into the kitchen. 

The brunette smiles at them both, even as she opens the fridge to retrieve a bottle of ginger ale. Her baby doll is tucked through a belt loop, posed like it’s a little naked Superman flying along. “The party punch gives Carol heartburn,” she explains. “And Amanda? If you really prefer to sneak outside, you can. I’m surprised Beth hasn’t made an escape.” 

Beth’s been too busy giggling and playing photographer to care that Carol’s snagged her little blue eyed baby up and added it to hers to have twins tucked in the crook of one elbow. Sophia staying makes sense, since Carol’s her mother. Amanda shrugs, although the men look to be having more fun settled on the deck with beer and a deck of cards. She doesn’t see Rick among them, so it hits her that the man must have loaned Beth his car. It’s a weird feeling, thinking of the girl driving a vehicle even Carl isn’t given the keys to.

“Pretty flowers, Lori,” Shane remarks, eyeing the big flower arrangement on the kitchen island. “How far in the doghouse is Daryl to merit that?”

Lori shakes her head, pretending exasperation at Shane. It’s odd now, seeing these two together for the first time, knowing Lori still has a comfortable friendship with her ex-husband’s best friend. “They aren’t from Daryl. When they arrived this morning, I thought maybe they were a gift for the shower, but then I read the card.” She plucks it from the arrangement and passes it to Shane.

The deputy reads it, arching a brow and looking between the card and the flowers. The arrangement is brightly colored, some theme Amanda figures is probably supposed to be cheerful or sunset or something, with sunflowers, orange snapdragons, orange and hot pink roses, and another yellow filler flower she can’t identify. “Having the ex-husband sending apology flowers four years after the divorce is a bit unique.”

“Something must have given him a wakeup call, I guess,” Lori says before turning to Amanda, who can barely keep her expression neutral at the words ‘wakeup call’. “If you want clothes for the baby doll, there’s a basket of them on the counter. You can keep it if you want. Any leftovers, I’ll let Naomi have.”

Amanda nods, and Lori disappears back in the direction of the living room. Shane is still holding that card, but while he didn’t look at her with Lori in the room, he turns and studies her now, thumb rubbing the cardstock almost absently. “You know, one of the things Rick and Lori fought about from almost the second they got married was his tendency to refuse to talk and give someone the cold shoulder when he was upset. Funny how he’s had a burr under his saddle all week about something, and now he’s apologizing to Lori for being an uncommunicative asshole for thirteen years.”

The urge to talk to someone about what’s going on between her and Rick is damned overwhelming, and Amanda squirms under Shane’s assessing gaze even as he tucks the card back into the flowers. “Something happened.”

Shane snorts, giving her a lopsided smile. “Figured it must have, because Eugene grumbled about sharing an office with you two making Antarctica look warm. Need to run it by me?” When she nods, he jerks his head toward the door, and she follows, dropping the little naked doll into the basket with the tiny doll onesies. She’s not carrying that outside, game or no game. The big deputy pauses by the cooler, snagging two bottles of Pepsi and waving off the call back to the card game. “Be back in ten minutes.”

“Now, Shane, dammit, you can’t go off talking about work at a party,” Merle calls out. He’s not playing cards, instead leaning against the deck rail and watching. His eyes narrow a bit, and so do Daryl’s. At least that’s confirmation that both her brothers are aware Shane’s involved in the case, too.

“We’ll be back,” Amanda replies. “Shouldn’t take even ten minutes.”

No one fusses as they continue down the deck steps and go around to the gate to access the front yard. She follows Shane out to a modest SUV, where he pops the hatch and pats the spot beside him as he offers her a bottle of Pepsi. “Can’t offer you alcohol for whatever this is, unless we both want an open container writeup drinking out here.”

Amanda rolls her eyes, but uses the drink for the delay tactic it is, gaze on the damned yellow car parked behind hers. Beside her, Shane hasn’t even opened his drink. She can’t seem to find the words that say ‘hey, I had my hand down my partner’s pants - again’.

He doesn’t wait for her to speak, in the end. “I went undercover a few times, not for my own department, but on loan to a few others. The last one…” The sigh comes from somewhere deep in his chest. “We were posing as a couple, and we got in over our heads with it.”

Looking at him, she doesn’t really need the confirmation that it involves sex, just like her and Rick. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath. “We had sex, the morning after we found out about Joan.” Maybe it wasn’t everyone’s definition of sex, but honestly, she isn’t admitting the exact details to someone she barely knows.

Shane hums softly, those dark eyes intent on her as he nods. “I had a feeling it might happen.” 

“What the hell do I do now?” she asks, remembering the night before, where she didn’t have a single sex dream, despite talking to Rick for hours. The dreams were more unsettling, too domestic to be about a man she barely knows and has nothing in common with except their shared profession and a few family members.

“You’ve got two choices. Do your damndest to forget it ever happened or take a shot at making it something more than an accident during an intense case.”

It makes her nearly choke on the drink she just took. Blinking at him incredulously, she clears her throat. “Take a shot? He’s my partner. Is that what you did?” If he did, it didn’t work out, because she doubts Michonne was an undercover partner. The woman is too distinctive and well known.

Shaking his head, something mournful crosses Shane’s expression. “She was married. I didn’t know it when we went undercover, because I’ve done a lot of questionable hookups in my time, but married isn’t one of the lines I cross. I found out when we closed the case. When I got home, I applied for the K9 unit and took my promotion to sergeant, even though it meant splitting up my partnership with Rick.” He looks away, voice rumbly soft as he speaks again. “They publicize K9 officers too much to send them undercover.”

There’s a sense of loss in his words that tells her Shane had fallen for his married partner, and Amanda feels for him. “Why would you tell me to take a shot?”

The sorrowful look clears away as Shane smiles. “Rick needs someone who can shake his world up a bit, who has her own life to live, too. Challenge him to do more than just tally time between work and Carl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so intrigued with a woman, Amanda, and I was there when he and Lori met. You aren’t partners in the way the department handbook looks at it, so there’s no reason you can’t.”

Being encouraged to pursue whatever this is between her and Rick, by the man who is not only his best friend, but his actual boss, is a bit baffling for Amanda. Shane doesn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that she’s nothing like the girls Rick’s been dating. There’s nothing but sincerity in the man’s expression.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she manages, and Shane seems to accept it. 

He stands, patting her on the shoulder. When she hops out of the improvised seat in the back hatch of the SUV, he closes the door and turns back to her. “Just think about it. If he was an ass to you this week, like I figure he was, no one can get under his skin like that if he isn’t attached.”

It makes her think about last night’s call, even as she follows Shane back toward the house. Turning the quandary of her continued attraction to a man that seems an impossible match over and over in her head, she joins the poker game to outlast the baby shower. Last night, having someone to turn to when her week was beyond overwhelming? It was amazing. Can they keep that if they bring sex into the mix? She just doesn’t see how. Five years ago, before Luke, maybe she would take the chance, but three years with someone who couldn’t handle the realities of her career disillusioned her about taking chances when two people seem incompatible to start with.

Somehow, luck has it that she and Beth leave at the same time, and the perky blonde calls her name as they reach the cars. She’s got the door to the Mustang open, resting her arms against it as she waits on Amanda to turn back to her. “I know something was wrong this week,” she says. “Rick was so miserable it hurt to look at him, all week long.”

“That’s not my business,” Amanda starts, but Beth waves a hand with more assertiveness than she’s used to seeing out of the girl.

“Thing is, he had a really bad week, and not just because of whatever you two are fighting about. I heard him say your name last night, when he answered the phone, before he closed his door. You know what was different this morning?”

Amanda swallows, not sure if she should confirm she was the one calling at such a late hour. “What was different?”

“Rick was smiling. It was like it didn’t matter that he’d had a horrible week anymore.” Beth steps back, obviously getting ready to get into the driver’s seat. “Funny how talking to you for two hours in the dark made him look ten years younger, huh?”

Before Amanda can even absorb that, Beth’s inside the car and closing the door. The blonde waves as she pulls her car out into the street. Watching her drive away sets Amanda’s mind to spinning again, but this time the term partner isn’t accompanied by badges and police reports. It’s imagining the impossible, waking up with Rick like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

Looking at her phone, she reads Carl’s latest Facebook post. Yesterday, Rick had been an afterthought in the amusement park posts, which she skims after what Beth said, looking for signs of stress she missed. He's smiling in all of them, but he also looks as tired as she felt yesterday. 

Today? 

Carl posted a single photo - of Rick, sitting at an ancient folding table with a tattered textbook in front of him, using a pencil's eraser to point to something on the page. He's dressed in an emerald green button up, sleeves rolled to bare strong forearms. Although she saw the contacts case in his bathroom, it's a little startling to see him in wire frame glasses. Obviously explaining something to someone out of frame, he looks relaxed and happy.

Carl's caption reveals that after yesterday's fun, they'd spent today doing something entirely different. ' _When your dad's a cop, you're always told he's a hero. It's not just a badge that does that. Sometimes it's a textbook and helping a kid study to pass her GED tomorrow._ '

Something about Rick's expression, it just makes her wish she could reach out and run her fingers through those curls. That’s apparently the part of her trying to be in charge, because somehow her route home takes her by Rick’s building. She even makes it into the garage, parking in that spot that seems almost hers by now.

Thinking of the scene she interrupted at Daryl's, she closes her eyes. Her once wary, half-feral brother had been standing behind Lori at the sink in their bright, pretty kitchen. Lori's not showing yet, but Daryl had one big hand cupped against her belly as he placed a gentle kiss at the base of Lori's jaw, telling her softly that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. And Lori's smile at those gravelly voiced words? It was something breathtaking.

For a few brief moments Saturday morning, before her anxiety and self-doubt chased it away, that's how she felt when Rick was looking at her, eyes bright and blue as he peppered kisses along her skin. It was like she was a treasure he couldn't believe he had. An apology for running out on him can be done by phone or text. Going upstairs? That's got implications of not just apologizing. Taking a deep breath, she reaches for the door. She gets it open and debates with herself, trying to push back the absolute certainty that if she goes upstairs tonight, nothing will ever be the same.

It’s simple. Get out of the car, get into that elevator, and with Rick, she might not even need _words_ to explain. So why does she feel more terrified than facing down a methhead with a gun?

And her phone rings.

It's Dawn Lerner, with a prim, barely sincere apology for interrupting her day off. One of the evening shift sergeants broke his ankle on a foot chase through a junked up alley, and as the low man on the totem pole, Amanda's getting overtime instead of taking that elevator upstairs. Maybe she can talk to Rick tomorrow, when she drops Carl off. In frustration, she slaps the steering wheel, groaning, and starts the car.

~*~*~*~

Rick hadn't shared as much about his week as Amanda did hers, because while work was easy enough, the personal was not. With Amanda's extreme discomfort with his family money, telling her about his mother's constant nitpicking about the disposition of the family trust didn't feel right. Honestly, he'd been so damned glad to hear her voice that her calling him an asshole actually made him smile.

Everything about Amanda is about as opposite as it can get from his austere and elegant mother, and if all she wants is a work partner, he'll settle for that. He's missed that sort of bitching about a hard week. Honestly, he's not sure if last night's would have been better over a beer or lying next to each other in bed.

Shane's never in the field anymore, and while he understands the job, it's not the same. Rick can't truly socialize with his detectives, and after Shane left King County, Rick never formed the same sort of friendship with any of the other deputies. None of them ever forgot who his mother was.

Evelyn Corbyn Grimes, the prissy, narcissistic princess whose family owned enough of the county and employed enough of the residents that everyone knew who Rick was, even if his last name was Grimes and not Corbyn. Not giving him the Corbyn surname was probably the only rebellion his parents ever did from his maternal grandfather's grand plan for the family. 

In the end, it cost his mother far more than it did Rick himself. Dumping the majority of the family fortune into a trust whose lion's share goes to Rick had been his grandfather's pointed revenge against his only daughter and son-in-law for ending his cherished family name with him. Grandfather hadn't approved of Rick attending a state school, majoring in anything other than business, or the fact that he got Lori pregnant his senior year of college. But none of those things broke a promise between him and the querulous old man, so Rick is about to gain full control of a nightmarish amount of money.

His mother isn't broke, despite being left in the cold by the family trust. She still has a personal trust fund from her mother that gives her a yearly income that would take most patrol cops four years to accumulate. His father's retirement from his grandfather's company nearly doubles that. Her home in London makes the luxuries of his apartment look spartan, and it's one she inherited from her British born mother.

Being cut out of her own father's will is horrible, but now she's had sixteen years to let all that bitterness ferment since his grandfather died. Greed and resentment do ugly things to people, and as much as he loves her, his mother never had a lot of positive personality to spare. Most of it died out with his father, he suspects sometimes. She loves him and adores Carl, but the most important person in her world will always be Evelyn Grimes.

Normally, the time difference makes it hard for her to coordinate long calls, but she's at her cousin's vacation home in Tortola. Living in the lap of shared luxury has her more resentful than usual, as if she needs to own a home on an island she visits once every two or three years. The call before Amanda's last night had been her fifth call this week, all saccharinely sweet about missing her only son and grandson...while ending in subtle digs about what her life was supposed to be like now.

After that, being called an asshole just felt like honesty incarnate.

He hadn't intended to go by the shelter today, wanting to spend the entire weekend with Carl. When he watched his son eating breakfast they cooked together, it reminded Rick how absolutely hopeless he'd been in young adulthood compared to his own son. Instead of something frivolous, he had Beth drop them at the shelter.

Carl absorbed the realities of people his own age being abandoned and homeless and squared his shoulders before asking Jesus what he could do to help. His son is on the schedule now, making a commitment to continue the science tutoring he started this afternoon. It was a good way to spend the day. Carl will never be as ignorant of the real world as Evelyn. Charity is more than writing a check and pretending it fixed the problem.

As he turns off the street and into the parking garage, Carl calls out from the backseat, “Hey, Dad?”

Rick glances up in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, son?”  
“You’re really okay with me going back down to the shelter, right?” 

“Of course.” He’d worried a little, that the kids wouldn’t respond well to a kid who is obviously clueless about their lives and problems, but they didn’t reject Carl. They encouraged him to keep asking questions and understand. It won’t always be smooth sailing, because Rick saw some kids holding back from Carl’s impromptu tutoring session. “We’ll keep going together.”

Talking to Joan reminded Rick that he’s never used the degree he worked so hard on, other than to help Carl with homework over the years. Today, sitting with Annie and watching her anxiety fade as she grasped the review of her material? That was amazing. He loves being a cop and doesn’t regret that’s the career he chose, but he’s starting to understand it’s not an either or situation.

They’ve reached their individual garage, and he clicks the remote to open the door. Carl’s grinning in the backseat, and Rick thinks it’s the happiest he’s seen his son in his presence since the divorce. “Thanks, Dad. I’d like that.”

That’s even more amazing, and he’s smiling and lagging behind as Carl and Beth gather their takeout and leave him to use the keypad to lock the garage. The secure garages are closer to the elevators than the regular spots, so the younger pair are debating something about a school project he has due and don't notice when he doesn't enter the elevator with them. Rick can see Amanda's little car in the spot for the apartment, and he allows himself a spark of hope he shouldn't. But just as she opens the car door, her phone rings. The frustration when the call ends is something he's felt many a time when work curtailed plans.

She doesn't look his way when she drives past, too intent on navigating the parking garage. Disappointed, he jabs the button for the elevator and heads upstairs. In the end, he tamps down the wish to see Amanda tonight and sends her a text.

_Stay safe out there tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, these two will manage to get their stars to align... but probably not next chapter either. 😈


	13. Fade in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl, Rick, and Amanda attend a baseball game together, but an unwanted visitor gives Amanda information that make her back off from moving beyond friendship with Rick again.

Rick finishes his supper, watching as Carl dashes from the laundry room to his room. His son is shirtless because he'd realized belatedly that his favorite Braves t-shirt was in his laundry hamper. Chuckling, he gets up to fetch the dropped socks just as the door opens behind him. Turning to see Amanda, he smiles. She’s tucking away her access card, not knocking as he thought she might and only using the card for the elevator. It feels like they’re finding their common ground finally, just a little.

"Carl's leaving a trail of socks," he says flourishing the four socks, none of which match.

Amanda smiles, easier than she's done around him in a while. "You should tell him about this wonderful invention called a laundry basket."

"And deny him the teenage fun of running through the apartment with armloads of laundry?" Rick goes to hand the socks off to Carl, who has his Braves t-shirt on now.

"You should go with us, Dad," he says, sorting socks to find a match.

"I just bought two tickets, Carl," Rick says, going to add his dishes to the dishwasher.

"C'mon. It's Labor Day. I'll bet it didn't sell out." Carl's expression is earnest, and the idea he's being asked to go along is appealing, except this was Amanda's game. Glancing to his erstwhile partner, Rick shrugs. "If it's good with Amanda."

Whatever truce they've reached seems to hold, and he has hope for pulling a friendship out of the mess when she actually smiles. It makes him wonder a bit, so he spares a flicker of curiosity about why she came by last night. "Why not? I know you probably didn't want to commit on a work night, but you're home for the day, right?"

"It was an astonishingly calm day for the last day of a holiday weekend," Rick admits. He'd cycled half his detectives off for the day based on past activity, with the rest getting it as a floating holiday later. "If you don't mind…"

Amanda nods, so he goes to find his phone. There isn't an extra ticket with the ones he already purchased, so he buys another three. There's an alternative for them attending where he doesn't have to buy seats, but he's never used that option with taking Carl to the games and doesn't intend to start now.

"Let me change, and then we can go," Rick calls out down the hall. He's still in his trousers and dress shirt from work, and while he wouldn't be the only attendee to show up that way to a night game, he prefers to be more comfortable. Carl shouts back an okay, returning to whatever he's chattering to Amanda about.

When he reappears in jeans and one of his own Braves t-shirts, Amanda arches a brow, looking between him and Carl. Their shirts don't match, but they're obviously set up for the game whereas Amanda is wearing a plain green t-shirt. "I feel like the odd one out."

"I can fix that." Carl grins and trots off to his room, returning with another shirt. 

Amanda takes it, but laughs and shrugs, disappearing into the powder room to change. When she returns, spreading her arms and laughing at the close match to Carl's shirt, Rick squashes the thought that he wishes he'd thought to loan her a shirt himself. He's just glad it's a men's shirt, because he isn't so sure his resolve to keep things platonic would survive seeing her in a more form fitting women's shirt.

"You prepaid parking, right, Dad?" Carl asks, patting his pockets before dashing back to his room for his missing wallet.

"I did." If it wasn't for work, he would just take a cab or Uber. "Are we taking your car or mine?"

She thinks it over and surprises him. "Yours. Odds I'll get called in again are slim. They try to spread the overtime out."

"Too bad you already ate, Dad. No ballpark food for you," Carl teases as they head for the elevator.

"For which my cardiologist is probably grateful." The reply gets him a concerned side look from Amanda, but she doesn't comment. "I'm sure you'll make up for my lack."

"He ate a Blooper burger last time," Amanda admits, shuddering. "And ate the entire thing."

Rick eyes Carl, not sure if he's impressed or concerned for his digestive health. That thing has four burger patties, a footlong hotdog, chicken tenders, plus a bunch of toppings. "Jesus, son. Your mother's right about you having two hollow legs."

Carl just grins and leads the way to the garage and keys the code to open it. "I gave Amanda the candied popcorn."

Rick chuckles as Amanda rolls her eyes. Carl slides into the back as soon as he unlocks the door, but Amanda hesitates on taking the front passenger seat. "Wouldn't it be more comfortable for you up front?"

"Nah. If I was as tall as Dad, maybe. Back's fine."

Reassured, Amanda gets into the car. She inspects the car with open curiosity, which makes Carl lean forward as much as his seatbelt allows as Rick navigates the parking garage and out into traffic. "It's a sweet car, isn't it? Dad keeps telling me I can drive it one day."

Rick snorts. "When it doesn't triple my insurance rates, maybe. We'll talk when you turn twenty-five."

"My great-grandpa had one this exact color," Carl adds. "He bought it brand new in 1966. It took Dad nearly a year to find one just like it."

"It's that rare?" Amanda turns in her seat to eye Carl.

"Actually, Aunt Kate bought it for Grandpa. That's what made it rare, because he lives in Denver, not Boston. He bought it there and drove it east," Rick interjects.

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, that's what makes it different. It's a special edition, only sold out west, like three hundred made. That's why Aunt Kate got the car after your grandpa died, right?"

Rick nods. "One of my cousins owns it now."

"And you went to find a car just like it?"

"He taught me to drive in his, so, yeah." Rick knows his smile is a little goofy and embarrassed, but when he realized it wouldn't cost him any more than most modern cars, he couldn't resist. "It's not an Eleanor or that kind of rare. Just unique."

A glance over shows Amanda looking thoughtful. "So your family isn't all Georgia born and bred?"

Carl laughs from the backseat, and Rick just smiles. "My mother's family? Most all of them. My father was born and raised in Boston. Seventh of ten kids, nine of them boys, and one of only two to go to college and leave the state."

"That's a huge family." Amanda looks wide eyed, but then nods. "That's why you and Lori don't mind Carl going to MIT. There's a ton of family there."

Rick hits traffic congestion, while Carl tells Amanda about the three trips they've managed to visit family up north since he was old enough to remember. Two have been since the divorce. For a kid who is the only one of his generation of their family in Georgia, Carl took to the masses of cousins like a duck to water. Sure, he'd prefer his son to attend Georgia Tech, but heading north won't be a culture shock for Carl either.

By the time they're in the ballpark, Carl and Amanda are debating where to eat. Carl snags his elbow. "C'mon, Dad. Tell Amanda the chicken and waffle boat is amazing."

"It is." 

Amanda looks intrigued. "I thought you were a vegetarian."

Rick laughs, shaking his head. "Healthy food, not necessarily vegetarian. Those places are usually easier, though, if you don't want to be stuck with grilled chicken salads."

"Okay, fine. If it keeps you away from that monstrosity you ate last time, I'll eat this waffle boat."

Watching her figuring out how to eat the mango habanero sauced chicken is entertaining, even as Carl gives her tips that the honey and powder sugar coated waffle is part of balancing the heat. "Jesus, Carl, how the hell is this amazing," she asks his son, patting at her watering eyes. The heat from the pepper sauce is making her sweat lightly, but it’s accompanied by a flush along her skin he finds appealing.

Carl is snickering, even as he finishes chewing a bite of his own. "It said habanero when you ordered."

Rick leaves them long enough to retrieve ice cream bars. "Here. Ice cream will help more than the rest of the sweets."

The game starts, distracting them from Amanda's battle with the chicken, but Rick doesn't miss that she finishes everything down to the last curly fry on the side. It's Carl that jogs off to return with a second round of ice cream. His son hasn't been subtle tonight, deliberately sitting so that Rick's got the middle seat of their three. He'll have to have a chat with him tonight about the barely subtle matchmaking. For now, he's just going to enjoy the game - and the company.

~*~*~*~

Amanda enjoys the baseball game far more than she expects. Carl is an enthusiastic fan, but along the lines of anyone who enjoys sports. Sitting next to Rick, who pulls out his smart phone and shows her an app, is sitting next to a diehard baseball affictionato. 

She finally understands why he fiddled with his phone so much when he watched games at Merle's bar. While the Braves are definitely his favorite team, he also follows the Red Sox. Apparently, Atlanta's team started off in Boston, too. Scorekeeping does make things a little more interesting, especially as Rick explains both the action on the field and the entries for the app in that soft tenor of his.

It also puts her close enough to realize whatever cologne he put on when they left the apartment is not the bright, clean smelling cologne she's scented on him that reminds her of someone freshly showered. This is something richer, that smelled similar at first, but aged into something that smells like spicy, rich coffee with hints of leather. Normally, she's not much into men's colognes, finding them too chemical in nature, but whatever this is smells nice and luxurious. With all the other hints of wealth, she wouldn't be surprised if it's something crazy expensive.

By the time the game enters the later innings, she's a few steps further down the path of letting all the matchmaking happen, because Rick's boyishly happy at the game. There's none of the playboy she's been led to expect, and while she knows the seats they have tonight are far more expensive than the ones Bob gave her, they aren't obscenely so. It doesn't hurt that he took the two tickets from his prior plans for just her and Carl and passes them on to a young couple behind them that definitely were aiming for cheap seats.

Rick leans in toward the end of the sixth inning, aiming to be overheard over a loud fan behind them that isn’t pleased with the out call against the home team. “Not as boring as you thought it would be?”

Amanda shakes her head, not leaning away despite the way Rick’s turned meaning she can feel his soft breath on her skin. “It’s the long stretches of no hits that get a little weird.”

He smiles and hands her his phone. “Why don’t you try the rest of the game?”

“Trying to convert me as a fan?” she teases, a little surprised at being handed his phone. In her experience, most people don’t care to hand over something with such personal access to them. It’s not like she would snoop, but many people would.

“Diehard baseball fans always try. Besides, the more you like the games, maybe you’ll come with me again.” There’s the barest hint of an undertone she thinks might be flirting, but if so, he’s keeping it restrained. But by the rules she set for him, that’s the boundary line. He isn’t pushing it, and it intrigues her.

The seventh inning stretch leaves her solo for the first time. Carl's jaunted off for more junk food, while Rick apologetically stated he's too old to be tackling Mountain Dew anymore. She laughs at the joke, watching him make his way toward the restrooms and choosing to relax in her seat after a judicious stretch.

Cop instincts alert her to someone stopping at the end of their row. She looks over to see an overly made up platinum blonde studying her with a sour look on her pretty face. The woman is expensively dressed in that way designed to show off it's expensive. Amanda might not know designers on sight like some women, but she recognizes designer clothing in general, at least. "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to see what sort of woman would have Rick out in the cheap seats instead of where he should be."

Amanda frowns, pocketing Rick’s phone that he left with her. "What are you talking about?" These aren't exactly cheap seats, not terrace level infield, but the blonde points over and down toward the area where attending the game includes club seats, catering, and God only knows what else. She's heard plenty of working class folks bitch about the cost of those areas.

"His family's company has several club seats, you know. They're wealthy enough they don't even attend all that much. It's just one of those things they do to be seen, you know." The smile on the woman's face is bitter and false. "That's where we sat when he brought me. But I see he's slumming it again, like with that beanpole ex-wife of his."

"I have no idea what the hell you think is going on here, lady, but Rick and I aren't dating. We work together." A sly voice in the back of her mind reminds her she's been imagining more all night, each time she gets a good whiff of how that cologne has blended into his body chemistry.

The woman is older than the coeds she's been told about, maybe two or three years older than Amanda, which is almost worrisome. But then something out of place settles into Amanda's study of the stranger: she's wearing a wedding band, along with an obnoxiously large diamond engagement ring. She also catches Amanda looking toward it and grimaces.

"I had to settle for someone a little less cultured in the end, when Rick married the little redneck before I was old enough for our parents' plans to join our families. My family was old money, but we had nothing on the Corbyns. Then things should have aligned again, because his dear mother certainly still wanted to see us paired off after his divorce."

"Even though you're married?" Amanda knows her tone is incredulous. Lori's never had a good word about her former mother-in-law, but this is beyond belief. 

The blonde laughs. "I wasn't married until last year. A woman can only wait so long, and modeling is a young woman's business. Lyle isn't old money, and he's thirty years my senior, but that just means he doesn't expect children out of me. That was the one good thing Lori would have taken care of for me, if Rick hadn't been so stubborn."

Amanda is paying more attention than the little harridan, because she sees Rick just as he speaks. "My mother never should have encouraged your delusions. I wouldn't have married you if you'd been the last woman on earth, Valerie."

The frigid tone makes the woman freeze, and she slowly turns to face Rick. "You thought I was good enough to date."

"Three dates was plenty to convince me that my mother is foolishly naive about your true nature. I suggest you stop harassing my friend and get back to your husband before I go explain what you're up to."

Surprisingly, the threat works, with Valerie stalking away just as Carl reappears. Rick takes the seat next to her, offering her a bottle of water. "I'm sorry about that. Valerie and I didn't exactly grow up together, but our parents owned adjacent houses on the coast. Our mothers got this dreamy idea of uniting the families like some Victorian novel."

"I see. You don't have to apologize for her." Amanda is starting to absorb the information slowly, and the game restarting helps draw Rick's attention away from her. Carl keeps looking their way curiously, and she knows it's because they've lost their relaxed camaraderie. Rick seems embarrassed, and Amanda is trying to ignore the most significant tidbit of information Valerie dropped.

She could care less about family matchmaking of offspring, since obviously Rick never took it seriously. It's the small, prettily wrapped bombshell of Rick's family name that is crawling into that place that's seen them as too socially different and exploding along her senses. The knowledge shouldn't be so shocking. She's seen so many indications of wealth she shouldn't be surprised.

Rick is a fucking Corbyn. They aren't Vanderbilt or Rockefeller wealthy, not on such a national scale of wealth so large it's practically perverse. But here? In Georgia? They're probably among the top twenty wealthiest families, and the company founded by his great grandfather is one of the largest industrial manufacturing employers in the Southeast.

She struggles to wrap her mind around a man raised to that being content as a cop. The penthouse, glimpses of ease with money, and an old school gentility not seen often these days… that's from a background she can't even begin to imagine outside of a movie or novel. Carl seems like such a normal kid, more upper middle class than Amanda could ever imagine being, but normal.

They never regain their comfortable state before the game ends, and she even hands the phone back instead of keeping score. The ride back is mostly filled with Carl's easy chatter. The teen dashes ahead, intent on getting upstairs for something, leaving Amanda alone with his father. Since he neglects to tell her goodnight, she thinks he expects her to join them upstairs.

She'd intended to, really she had, but she starts making her excuses to Rick and watches the last of the contentment fade from his expression. He reaches out as if he's going to touch her shoulder, but drops his hand.

"I really am sorry about Valerie." 

Amanda sighs and fiddles with her car keys. "She wasn't really that awful. A bit dramatic like a soap opera, but it was more angry cat than intimidating compared to what I deal with at work."

Rick nods. "Worst thing I ever did was think it would shut my mother up by going out on a few dates. She was a nice girl, once, but she was about fifteen when I married Lori. Her family lost most of their fortune in the recession a decade back. Working for a living wasn't in her game plan, thanks to her mother expecting her to marry someone of similar background."

"Like you?" Amanda can see it, she thinks. For all of Valerie's catty behavior, she carries herself with the same bearing and has the same cultured speech patterns Rick does.

"If she'd been smart, she would have aimed for my cousin, who actually runs the company. I guess she didn't want to be wife number four." The wry grin tells her Rick is trying to downplay the impact of the family name he's carefully never mentioned.

"Depends on whether he's careful enough for prenups." It's such a weird thing to say, but she knows they exist in worlds like his. Lori says the word like it's the foulest curse sometimes, although it seems directed at her former in-laws, not Rick. 

It's a sore point with Rick, because there's a minute flinch he controls quickly. "He generally is."

"Smart man." She can say that honestly. There are enough Valeries in the world to make planning for a divorce before you even marry a necessity. "I should go."

Rick is disappointed, she can tell, but he honors their original agreement. "Stay safe out there tomorrow."

It’s the same thing he texted to her last night, making her realize he probably saw her in the garage. Did he see how she hesitated in getting out of the car, or did he just catch her leaving. She pushes the thought away, carefully not looking his way. Yesterday was foolishness on her part.

"You, too." It doesn't surprise her that he stays by the elevator, watching her as she gets to her car. She's armed with a badge and her backup weapon, but he still watches. The part of her that regrets not getting on that elevator wishes the partnership was something other than temporary on that alone. He has her back.

As she passes by the elevator, he's inside as the doors slowly close. She gets a glimpse of his head bowed and his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, shoulders slumped. It puts a chink in her resolve, but she drives on. 

An adopted kid who doesn't even know who her own father is can't be compatible with the world he comes from. This isn't some rags to riches princess story. If Rick's mother hated Lori, who at least gave her a grandson and learned all those finicky upper class manners, she would loathe Amanda. She's a career cop who rides motorcycles with her brothers, one of which is an ex-con and the other married to Rick's ex. 

"Jesus, Mandy, you'd give the old broad a heart attack the second you opened your mouth," she mutters. Christ Almighty, she wishes things were different, because she keeps imagining how good he smelled tonight and wishing she could have rediscovered how good he feels, too. She's going to ignore that her mind already goes to the sort of longevity between her and Rick that would mean she needs to meet his mother.

Dreaming impossible things has never been something Amanda Shepherd excelled at, so she's not starting now.

~*~*~*~

Rick ought to have expected Carl to be spying a bit to see if his matchmaking worked, but even with Valerie’s bullshit, he had found himself hoping the teen’s machinations would have some effect. Seeing Amanda here last night, even if she didn’t make it inside the building, it gave him a small kernel of hope. They’d had a good time at the ballgame, not quite a date, but close enough to make him understand what it would be like.

But then Valerie happened, and he could see the blooming knowledge of who his grandfather was behind those green eyes. Amanda went from warm and friendly, sitting close enough to him that they were definitely pushing any boundary of just being friends and partners, to withdrawn. She hadn’t been unfriendly or even cold, just cloaked in that wariness that he remembers from all their early meetings when she hadn’t been actually antagonistic.

“Amanda didn’t come up?” his son asks, venturing out of his room when Rick just leans against the door, feeling old and tired.

Shaking his head, Rick straightens, a flash of green catching his eye. It’s Amanda’s t-shirt, left in the powder room when she changed into one of Carl’s Braves t-shirts. The damn thing made her eyes brighten from a mossy dark green to something vivid, which he had tried not to notice at the time. After spending the entire evening close enough to keep getting glimpses of how the color changed with her emotions, he can’t help but remember them now.

“Carl?” he says softly, hating the disappointed look on the teen’s face. Carl has never liked a single woman he’s dated, and while their age was a primary factor, Amanda’s still younger than him by a decade or so. Something about her settles Carl’s antagonism.

The teen just sighs. “She’s smart, and she knows what being a cop is like. I thought maybe… Well, it wouldn't be like with Mom.”

So many of the problems with his marriage had been beyond the scope of his job that he wishes it were easier to explain to a boy who loves them both. Carl has no idea of what the early years were like, when Lori struggled to adapt to a world she wasn’t born into. Tonight proves Amanda feels the same way as Lori did, despite being older and more able to handle such issues. “I understand. But I’d like to be friends with Amanda, and I think that can’t happen if people are nudging us beyond that.”

Carl nods and surprises him by hugging him. “Maybe we should just get you a dating app, Dad. Or see if Uncle Shane knows someone.”

Rick chuckles and ruffles the boy’s hair. “Let’s don’t and say we did. Going out and looking to date didn’t exactly do me a lot of good, so maybe you let your dad just be content with his own company for now?”

Dating anyone other than Amanda feels like swallowing a bitter pill. He knows that will fade in time, the same way that the idea of dating anyone after Lori finally seemed palatable after he got his head on a little straighter after the divorce. For now, it’s just something to endure until it does fade away, like dust scattering in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two... alas, they just keep hitting those road blocks, don't they? 😇
> 
> The foods mentioned at the ballpark are all legit. While I could handle the chicken and waffle concoction, the Blooper sounds like a stomach ache waiting to happen...


	14. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Amanda find another clue as to who is behind the escort service, but Amanda's day job puts her in grave danger.

Rick managed a meeting with Gorman at Merle’s bar on Wednesday after work. He shows the man a list of potential restaurants and bars for the investment he proposed, and the asshole seems pretty content that Rick’s holding up his end of the deal. The fact that it can take two or three months to close on an active commercial property doesn’t seem to phase him. Rick’s just glad it buys him time on actually having anything to do with the man’s dirty money.

The sergeant wanders back to his little cluster of buddies, leaving Rick to his baseball game. It’s nearly six when Rick’s phone buzzes, and he hopes his confusion isn’t evident when he sees the message from Eugene: _Dinner’s on us tonight. Ask for Amber._

It’s got to be code, and the message is probably from Jesus, not Eugene. Easier to send it from Rick’s actual coworker, though. He maps the address that follows, seeing a restaurant not far from the Tech campus, a pizza and pasta place. It’s easy enough to catch Beth on her way by with a tray of food and beer. She just flashes him a smile when he tells her he’ll be back by closing to pick her up.

When he makes it to the car, he texts Amanda. _Hear from PR today?_

_Yeah. Going for pizza on my way home._

That saves him letting her know, he supposes. He wishes he knew more, but since Jesus was supposed to be putting out careful feelers about the escort service, Rick can only assume this is related somehow. The drive doesn’t take long, not at this hour, and Amanda’s waiting for him when he arrives.

“Girl sitting at that four seater table near the window is watching the parking lot closely. I’m guessing she’s waiting on us.” Amanda pushes away from where she’s been leaning on her car.

Rick can see why Amanda oriented on that particular girl, because the blonde is definitely a fresh faced coed type. Any other night, Rick would probably even think ‘sorority girl’, but he’s not sure he can ever make innocent assessments like that again, not after meeting Joan. Holding the door open for Amanda, he watches as the girl waves them over.

Amber doesn’t ask either of their names, so she either knows them or doesn’t want to get more involved than she already is. She has a slight accent, something European that sounds like it’s from the eastern side of things. Once they’re seated and place an order to keep the waitress happy, the girl sighs.

“Our friend says that you’re interested in helping girls like me.” Whatever led Amber to this life, she’s more disillusioned with the world than Joan was. Rick can see it in those tired blue eyes. “Helping Joan leave didn’t help you much there, you know, on getting more information.”

Thing is, Rick knew that helping Joan out was undercutting the operation, but he just couldn’t bring himself to let her stay in Gorman’s range of attention. It was the first time he truly understood why Shane always looked so haggard when he would come home from working with another agency. His best friend wouldn’t have been able to pull strings so easily for any victims he saw. “Do you honestly think Joan was up to helping out like that?”

Amber smiles, a practiced expression that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet, she wasn’t. She still had hope.”

The pessimistic statement makes Amanda stiffen next to him. “She was too new to that world,” his partner states.

It gets her a nod from Amber, who shifts her calculating gaze from Amanda to Rick. “And now she’s out. You’ll deny it was you, and I doubt Gorman would clue in. But he answers to someone far more astute. If I can get the same deal, I can do what Joan couldn’t.”

“You want your college expenses paid?” Rick asks, thinking it seems too simple. This girl’s not naive enough to think that’s the solution to all her problems. 

“I wouldn’t say no to a special educational grant. But that won’t help much if people like Gorman are still around. I want them gone, and I intend to help.”

“Alright. What are we missing here?” Rick asks, exchanging a look with Amanda. Maybe they’re a step closer to finding out who is employing Gorman and preying on these girls.

The smile on Amber’s face is genuine this time, with an undertone of spiteful. The noose is about to tighten even further around the corrupt cop, all because just as Beth assessed, he forgets the ‘help’ when they’re in the room.

~*~*~*~*~

Amanda thinks she ought to just offer to carpool with Rick. Amber spilled enough information that he’d insisted on an in-person meeting tonight, so she found herself following the other cop back out to Shane’s house in the country. There’s an eighties model Ford Bronco in the driveway that seems to be why Rick is grinning like a kid at Christmas.

“Do I want to know?” she asks. After the scene with Valerie at the ballgame, Amanda isn’t sure she wants any surprises where Rick is concerned.

“Grandma Jean is here. I forgot she always comes out on Wednesdays after church.”

Curious about Rick’s boyish excitement, she follows him inside as Andre lets them in the front door. The boy giggles as Rick sweeps a petite woman who doesn’t look like she’s even five feet tall into a hug that has her completely off her feet. She’s elderly, at least eighty, Amanda thinks, and dressed in an ankle length broomstick skirt with an orange blouse that matches some of the blooms on the skirt. Her white waist length hair is neatly plaited in a single thick braid.

“Oh, put me down, Rick Grimes, before you drop me.” The protest is fond and affectionate, not serious, but Rick sets the woman down gently. She latches onto him in the way of older Southern ladies, turning him one way and the other assessingly. “You’re too skinny. Working too much and not eating enough, I’ll bet.”

“I would never drop you, Grandma Jean, and I eat plenty.” 

“I notice you don’t deny the working too much part. Just like my grandson, except now you don’t have a woman keeping an eye out on you.”

Andre nudges Amanda’s elbow. “They have this exact same conversation, every single time,” he tells her, pitching his voice below the still going banter between Rick and Jean.

Amused, Amanda thinks that Jean reminds her in some ways of her own adopted mother. They probably aren’t that far apart in age. Mama McGinley almost hadn’t been allowed to adopt Daryl because she turned fifty in between adopting Amanda and finally getting Daryl’s father’s rights terminated.

Eventually, Jean realizes Rick brought someone with him, and she turns the full force of her cheerful nature on Amanda. “Or maybe I spoke too soon on saying you don’t have a woman keeping an eye on you?” she directs back at Rick.

He grins. “This is Amanda Shepherd. She’s Daryl’s younger sister. Amanda, this is Grandma Jean. Officially, she’s Shane’s grandmother, but unofficially, she’s been looking after me since the first day I followed him home after school.”

Jean snorts. “Followed him home? He makes it sound like it was a couple blocks walk. Boy sweet talked a bus driver into letting him ride home with Shane, fifteen miles out of town! You gotta watch this one. He’s got a silver tongue on him.”

Amanda can’t help laughing, because Rick seems stuck between being proud of himself and slightly embarrassed at the last tidbit. “I had noticed as much.”

“Have you two eaten? I just put supper away and was washing up my crockpot to take it home when I saw Rick pull up. Shane’s in his office. Some crisis from work. Sounded like an incident at the detention center.”

“We did eat before we came,” Rick assures the older woman. “Did you bring cobbler?”

“I did. It’s even healthy enough to suit your finicky tastes, my boy.” She winks and goes to slide a container out of the refrigerator, doling out two servings. “Hasn’t even had time to get chilled in there.”

It would feel rude to refuse the offered plate, and honestly, Amanda’s curious as to what sort of dessert would have Rick looking even more excited than he did about that pie Beth bought him. It’s a cherry cobbler, and it’s definitely different than the usual fare that Amanda wouldn’t deem healthy. “It’s really good,” she compliments Jean from her seat at the small breakfast table.

“Grandma Jean has been converting her old recipes to make them healthier.” It’s Shane who explains, emerging from down the hall into the kitchen. “Her church is doing a heart healthy cookbook this year to raise money for their Christmas toy drive.”

“It’ll sell like hotcakes if we can get that naughty publisher to fall in line on pricing,” Jean adds. “Vegan and gluten-free adaptation are so popular nowadays.” 

Amanda thinks she might want a copy, because if this is actually healthy, she might understand Rick’s insistence on his eating habits. She notices that Rick’s serving is gone when she’s only half done with hers. It makes her wonder if he has a thing for tart desserts, just like he loves spicy foods.

“Send Michonne a text with the details. You know she’ll be happy to make a phone call.”

“We might end up with it being published for free is she gets ahold of that greedy man.” Jean chuckles, reaching out to draw Andre close, even as she glances shrewdly between the three other adults. “Andre and I are going to go see if we can walk off our supper, while you three take care of whatever business brings cops together after hours.”

As she ushers the boy away, Amanda realizes that Rick never introduced her as a cop, only as Daryl’s sister. It makes her wonder if Jean knows something about her, although it wouldn’t be surprising. As fond as the woman seems to be of Rick, she can picture Jean being attached to Carl, too, and the boy’s the biggest gossip Amanda’s ever met.

“Everything good?” Rick asks Shane. 

“Just jailer being a dumbass. Third writeup from his sergeant, so he’s out of chances.” The other man just sighs as he goes to the refrigerator and retrieves a bottle of juice. “Ever thought about working the detention side of things, Amanda?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “I hate riding a desk enough as it is. Too much sitting between rounds in a jail.” Shane and Rick’s county has a modernized system on most of the units, with a deputy supervising from a station on a pod with open movement. Granted, a sergeant probably wouldn’t be on the pod, but they’d just have a desk somewhere else. On patrol, she also sees the general public, not just detainees.

“Worth a shot. Best female sergeant we have is promoting out.”

“Where’s she going?” Rick asks, taking the cobbler plates to rinse and set in the dishrack. 

“K9 unit. We got the funding finally to replace Yucca after he retired last March.”

“Nice.” Rick leans against the sink. “This new girl Jesus sent our way? She’s been with the escort service longer. It’s been around longer than he thought.”

It doesn’t take long for Rick and Amanda to relay the information Amber gave them. Gorman isn’t new to the work, either, because he’s been involved for the two and a half years Amber’s been working for the service. She’s never met the boss either, not directly, although she says their assumption that the boss is a woman might be wrong. It’s just a hunch, though, or so she says.

“You think she knows more than she’s telling?” Shane is mulling over Amanda’s suspicion about Amber’s level of knowledge.

“I’d almost bet my badge on it,” Amanda tells him. “And I think she’s probably older than the usual college age, maybe even close to thirty.”

“Wouldn’t be the first woman to go to college later than the norm,” Shane notes, but he nods. “I’ll have Eugene do a bit of digging around and see what he can find discretely. But you both picked up on an accent. Realistic or faked?”

“I won’t rule out faked,” Amanda tells him, “but it’s something on the north end of eastern European, closer to Hungarian, I think.” When both men look at her curiously. “I went to college with an exchange student from Romania. She explained the accent shifts in class one day. The further north, their English sounds more like the one actors base Dracula on. Head south, it speeds up and takes on more of a Turkish influence.”

It doesn’t reassure Shane in the least, and he paces a bit, obviously thinking something over. “Could it be Ukrainian?” 

“I don’t know, but the geography fits,” Amanda replies, wondering why that specific suggestion.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Then this may end up going state level or even federal. There’s been a growing criminal interest in Atlanta that traces to Ukrainian nationals. If they’re behind the escort service, this is bigger than a handful of corrupt cops.”

“We’re already involved, Shane. Pulling out now could do more damage,” Rick states. He looks at Amanda, who nods. She’s sticking with it, too. “How much time do we have before you’d have to turn it over to someone higher up?”

“Another week to dig around, maybe. But you’re too exposed to be going into something at that level. Cops going after cops is one thing, Rick. But this? This is the kind of shit that’s why we have cooperative task forces, not just one department going after something.” Shane is tense enough that Amanda is getting concerned. This is so much more than stopping Gorman from his abuses and extortions, along with his small cadre of buddies.

“Make the calls you need,” she volunteers. “Get the alert out, but let us work it a bit longer.”

“They’ll probably agree to that since you’re already established.” Shane thinks it over. “Alright. I’ll fill the Sheriff in. He may decide otherwise, but until I tell you to pull the plug, keep on as you have been. We have enough now to arrest Gorman and friends, but if they’re involved with something more organized, then that’s a lot more time behind bars.”

With that decided, Amanda bids them both farewell. It’s late enough that it’ll be dark by the time she gets home, and it’s been a long week already. She’s scheduled for a double shift tomorrow, part of a schedule for covering for the same sergeant she got called in to cover on Sunday evening.

Outside, Andre’s throwing a ball in the front yard, with tiny Izzy chasing the undersized tennis ball while Athena watches over them both. Grandma Jean is seated on a swing hung from a limb on the massive oak out front. She waves at Amanda, calling out a greeting.

It feels rude to only wave goodbye, so Amanda ventures over. The unease she’s been feeling about Rick since the confrontation with Valerie is completely gone around the elderly woman. She can’t help her curiosity about Rick, and something tells her that chatting with Jean will be informative. There’s not a strong family resemblance between Jean and Shane, until you compare their smiles. 

The resemblance strengthens when Jean meets her gaze, astute blue eyes definitely holding that shrewd intelligence Amanda’s seen in Shane. “You aren’t dating Rick.”

“No, I’m not.” Amanda wonders if this is another matchmaking effort, but Jean just nods, turning her attention to her grandson at play.

“He and Shane decided they were brothers, all the way back when they were five and on the same Little League team. Didn’t matter one little bit to Rick that we were from the wrong side of things, or that my son bailed on Shane’s mama without even marrying her. I watched both of those boys grow up. They’re mine as much as they’re Evelyn’s.”

“From what I hear, that sounds surprising, that Evelyn was okay with that.” Lori’s always been vague, but Amanda’s put together enough clues over the years that she really didn’t need Valerie’s spite to know that Rick’s mother is a classic snob. Then she recalls exactly what Jean said. “Both are Evelyn’s?”

Jean laughs, her amusement making the swing shift. “Surprise of my life when she took to Shane like he was Rick’s long lost twin. Gave his mama a good job and paid for Shane to go to the private school with Rick instead of public school. Never acted like my grandson was her housekeeper’s son. That’s why I let her have custody of Shane when his mama died their freshman year of high school.”

When Amanda thinks about the two best friends, Shane does share a lot of the same mannerisms. There’s a strong reality in their habit of calling each other brother, it seems. “That may be the most positive thing I’ve heard about his mother.”

“Considering the woman took an unhealthy dislike to Lori from the day Rick first brought her home, I can imagine Lori doesn’t have a single fond memory of Evelyn. She had plans for her son, and it didn’t include being a twenty-two year old father married to a girl he barely knew.”

“Lori wasn’t from a good family.” Christ, the day Daryl detailed out Lori’s background to Amanda made her cringe and go buy Mama McGinley her favorite chocolates. It could have been Amanda’s, if her mother hadn’t given her up for adoption. “Not exactly the sort of wife for a company CEO.”

“Oh, honey, that wasn’t Evelyn’s problem with Lori. She never intended for her son to take over the family company. Spent all her years raising him deliberately encouraging everything that put him on any path but the one his father and her father were on.” Jean pats Amanda’s knee, her smile lopsided. “He was supposed to be a gentlemanly history professor, if he followed his dear mama’s plans, you know. Not a cutthroat businessman, and most definitely not a lawman.”

“Why did he become a cop?” Amanda’s seen the framed degree in Rick’s study. Jean’s correct that Rick’s degree doesn’t indicate plans for business or criminal justice either one. She knows some lawyers start out with history degrees, but not usually future patrol cops. But even with the baby on the way and a wife to support, Rick could have gotten his doctorate and gone on to teach.

“That’s a story best left to Rick himself. There’s enough family history buried there to fill a county landfill.”

It’s a fair enough request. Jean probably knows, considering the level of affection between her and Rick. “I suppose I’ll have to ask him.”

“You do that.” Jean leans down to catch the ball that’s rolled near her feet, tossing it easily. Izzy changes direction abruptly to follow the redirection. “Make sure you’ve got all the cards in the deck, before you decide which game to play.”

Amanda nods, standing. “It’s a long drive back to my place, and I’ve got a double shift tomorrow.”

“Stay safe out there.”

The phrasing hits Amanda as she walks to her car. Rick’s used it twice with her, and it rolled off Jean’s tongue so easily that she thinks she knows the source now. Glancing over as she starts down the driveway, she realizes Jean isn’t at the swing anymore, but hugging Rick near the front porch.

Every time she thinks she’s made up her mind about her feelings toward Rick Grimes, someone tosses her yet another curve ball.

~*~*~*~*~

The thing about being a cop is that it doesn’t matter what department it is when a fellow cop is shot on the job. It’s the fastest grapevine in the world, but Rick certainly wasn’t prepared for Shane appearing in his office. The younger man doesn’t knock, just calls his name in that falsely calm voice that tells Rick something’s gone seriously wrong.

“There’s been an officer involved shooting in Atlanta,” Shane tells him at two in the afternoon on Friday.

Rick knows, the second he meets Shane’s eyes that the reason his best friend is here personally is because it’s Amanda. Anything else, the other deputy would have let the office grapevine take care of. “Is she…” 

He can’t complete the question. His hands are shaking, and there’s a coldness descending over him. It’s a feeling he knows well, because Shane’s been shot in the line of duty once before. Through and through in his upper leg, but it had been the most terrifying moment of Rick’s life.

“Transported to Grady Memorial for treatment. She’ll be okay. Her vest took the brunt of it.”

“Jesus.” Rick buries his face in his hands. “It’s not anything to do with our case, is it?” That’s the next thought, that talking Shane into leaving them on the case with potential organized crime ties got Amanda hurt. She’s out there on the street every day, unlike him, stuck behind this damned desk.

Shane’s warm hand drops onto his shoulder. “Not as far as we can tell, Rick. Seems to be just an encounter with a messed up addict during a holdup. She went in to back up two of her officers, and the bastard started shooting. Suicide by cop.”

The shaking is worse now, along with the need to not be here. Shane’s grip on his shoulder is keeping him from completely losing it, and Rick thinks his best friend knows it. “Go home, Rick. Give her time to process through the medical and the followup with her lieutenant, and I’ll get a message to her to go by your place, not home.”

When Rick looks up at him, blinking in confusion, Shane gives him a little half smile. “Even if you two weren’t tapdancing around being more than partners, brother, I do remember being tucked in your guest room for a week after I got shot. You aren’t going to be happy if you can’t make sure she’s okay.”

Rick also knows Amanda won’t go to either of her brothers to be looked after, and being alone after a day like to day? He wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “She might not listen to show up.”

“You let me worry about that, Rick. Head home. She’ll be there.”

Trusting Shane like he always has, Rick shuts down his computer, not surprised when Shane hovers all the way to his car. He can still see the concern on his best friend’s face as he drives away, and it’s a reminder that he isn’t the only cop who might worry about Amanda. Shane’s under the double weight of being friends with Amanda and responsible for her as a senior officer. Getting home on autopilot, Rick paces his apartment, unable to settle.

Beth has plans for the weekend, so her sister is picking her up after class. With Gorman’s interest in Beth muted now that the girl has a seemingly firm source of income from Rick as her ‘sugar daddy’, she’s even been staying at her dorm here and there. The young deputy masquerading as a college student states that Gorman hasn’t come near the college, even when Beth went there after work.

He doesn’t have the distraction of Carl getting home anytime soon, because he’ll go to Lori’s after school. Four thirty rolls around, and he hasn’t heard from Shane or Amanda. After debating with himself for a bit about calling Amanda himself, he decides to cook instead. She might not be hungry after the hospital and the nightmare thicket of paperwork that an officer involved shooting always involvees, but if she is, she needs something better than takeout.

The food is in the warmer and the pans washed by hand to give him something to do by the time he hears the door open. Amanda appears, looking tired and moving slowly like any other officer he’s seen after taking bullets to the vest. She glances around the kitchen, arching a brow at the fact that Rick’s cleaning the kitchen counters.

“Shane said I needed to stop by here. Something come up with the case today while I was unavailable?” she asks.

Rick wishes it had, because he would have an easier time of convincing her to stay put. “Not the case.” 

“I don’t understand. Rick, I’m tired and in fucking pain. I just want to go home, take my pain meds, and sleep for about a day straight.” She’s frowning and already looking toward the door.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he manages, wondering where the hell the eloquence he’s known for goes whenever he’s facing this woman. “Shane was doing me a favor.” He isn’t sure Amanda’s ready for it to be stated that Shane was also trying to be protective of her. She seems to like his best friend, more than Rick most days, but he’s not pushing his luck.

“Why?” She’s curious, stopping from edging toward the door.

“You were shot today, Amanda.” Rick drops the cloth he was using to wipe down the counters, gripping the edge of the kitchen island to stop himself from giving into the impulse to go check with his own two hands that she’s okay.

“I’ve been shot before,” she states. “And I was fine being alone at my apartment.”

Rick wants to ask where the hell her partner was. Her family might not understand the impact, both of being shot herself and taking down the shooter, but her partner sure as fucking should have. He may have more or less kidnapped Shane to his house the day his partner was shot, but it’s something they always did if they had to shoot in the line of duty. They were never alone afterward, not once.

Instead, what comes out is a tone Rick recognizes with a sinking heart that he last heard from himself as he begged Lori to withdraw the divorce papers. “Amanda, please. Just stay. Eat dinner. I need to know you’re okay.” He looks up from where he’s been staring at his white knuckled hands. “Please.”

Of all the reactions he expects, being shoved against the counter and kissed senseless sure as hell wasn’t it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😇
> 
> Cliffhanger for y'all's enjoyment, right? I'd blame the horrendous migraine that knocked me on my butt, but nah, this was planned this way. 😉
> 
> If you've read the Grandma Jean series, you should recognize Shane's eccentric grandmother... she's not in the unofficial domestic violence shelter business here, but I couldn't resist bringing her over.


	15. Taking Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda celebrates being alive after being shot on the job... to Rick's contented happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks... this chapter is a whole lot of smutty smut, definitely well into E-rated territory, with good dash of two people getting in over their heads... 🔥
> 
> Bonus chapter to make up for yesterday's cliffhanger chapter. Some minor time rewind to start everything off.

A double shift is never a fun part of Amanda’s week. She knows there are officers who love the overtime, but most of those are those with families and mortgages and all the financial demands that go along. Back to back double shifts are even worse when she doesn’t need the money.

She does her best to keep her desk duty at the beginning and end of shift, because she may have a full complement of officers for the day shift, but they always need backup. There’s been one too many training classes about how sergeants being out on the streets helps reinforce the patrol officers' own training. Fewer incidents escalate, when a ranking officer can arrive on a scene.

It’s why she’s on the scene as fast as possible when the call comes in that two of her men have a gunman holding up a liquor store. She’s grateful as hell that the clerk’s smart enough to flee when the junkie gets distracted by the fact that he’s held up a store where two uniformed cops were eating lunch next door. The man’s not even smart enough to try to run himself.

Nothing helps calm the guy down. Every technique the older of the two officers applies, everything Amanda adds when she arrives, nothing sinks in. In the end, it is what it is, and a man is dead. They won’t even know for days if it’s Amanda’s shots that ended the standoff or one of her officers. She hopes it’s hers or Jeffries. The other officer is a rookie, and rookies almost never return if they have to deal with killing someone on the job.

Jeffries is a decent enough guy, not at Lamson’s level, but never one that’s given her any trouble, either before or after she became a sergeant. He’s genuinely freaked out as he sees the blood. It takes them both a few minutes to realize it’s from hitting her head on the way down. Both slugs that the perp fired are easily found in Amanda’s vest.

“Jesus Christ, sarge,” Jeffries mutters as they hear sirens approaching. “You got the luck of the angels.” He orders his partner to keep pressure on the head wound while he secures the scene.

Amanda just laughs, reassuring the terrified looking kid that doesn’t look old enough to be a cop by her humor. “I’ve always been told I keep my guardian angel working overtime.” It was Mama McGinley’s favorite saying, about both her adopted kids, but Amanda always more so than Daryl. Her brother has better self-preservation instincts than Amanda.

Later, there’s the hospital and the interviews. She leaves with two cracked ribs, enough bruising already forming to make her realize she’s going to be a fucking rainbow by morning, and seven stitches in her hairline. It’s a hell of a way to get out of a double shift. There’s also a message from Shane, delivered by a concerned looking deputy, that she needs to touch base with Rick at home.

Worried about what happened while she was taking care of her day job, she takes a cab to Rick’s building. Driving is off the table for a while, even if the doctors don’t think she managed a concussion. The worry keeps her mind off her battered body, and all the other uncertainties she has about Rick himself. They’re pushing into dangerous territory now. It’s not just about protecting Merle and Beth.

The apartment smells heavenly when she steps inside. It’s earlier than Rick should be home normally, his shifts running differently than patrol, but he’s in the kitchen, scrubbing away at already spotless counters. She frowns, trying to figure out what’s going on.

When it isn’t about their case, she feels a flicker of anger wash away the worry she felt all the way here. With the worry not keeping the pain at bay, she’s aching and resenting the detour from being at home in her bed with the bottle of pain meds she’s got in her pocket. The idea that Shane implied she was needed as a favor to Rick halts her rising temper. She can’t imagine what the hell is going on.

Rick’s voice shakes, just a little, when he states she was shot today, but it’s his body language that is more telling. He’s gripping the counter’s edge like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Telling him that she’s perfectly capable of looking after herself seems cruel, but clarifying she’s been shot before and handled it solo seems to tip him right over the edge. 

When he looks up, all she can see in those clear blue eyes is the same fear she felt earlier, when first one and then a second impact hit her chest like a freight train. The difference is that Rick’s fear is not for himself, but for her. He sounds wrecked, like her being shot today terrifies him. She thinks that he’s closer to breaking than any person she’s ever seen before.

Of all the things for him to say, begging her to stay was not what she expected. It’s that second please, when that cultured voice of his breaks completely, that drops a weight right onto the mental scale she’s had running ever since she met this confusing, intriguing man. Kissing him? It’s like coming home.

There’s a heady power to how fast his body responds to hers being pressed against it. As soon as she lets him up for air, he’s sliding gentle fingers along the bruising on her face, brushing against the line of tiny sutures. “Shane said you’d been shot,” Rick says huskily. “This isn’t from a gun.”

“Hit my head on the parking block when the bullets hit my vest.” Why she raises her shirt so easily to show her bruises, she isn’t entirely sure. His touch is so light it almost tickles, not touching the lower impact point, but edging along it hesitantly. That’s the one on her ribs, the bruising rippling from the slug’s impact point like water after a stone thrown in a pond. 

The other is higher. There’s less immediate bruising there. Fatty breast tissue doesn’t show damage as fast as the thin flesh over the ribs.

Despite the kiss and Rick’s physical response, there’s nothing amorous as Rick lays fingers next to the upper impact bruise. She’s not wearing a bra, because anything tight rubbing directly against her bruised left breast just isn’t happening. “He aimed for your heart.”

“What better way to make me return fire?” she replies quietly. “Everyone knows we wear vests on patrol, Rick. If he really wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have aimed for center mass.”

Those blue eyes are intense as they meet hers, and she knows that look. She’s seen it twice before, and his kiss is light and tender, not demanding like hers had been. He’s not as in control as the kiss implies, because the hand at her breast shifts, curling to cup the warm weight as his thumb brushes deliberately across her nipple.

If her mind wasn’t already made up that she wasn’t running away this time, Rick cements it when he eases back from the kiss at last. “Let me make you feel good,” he says huskily. “Please.”

Apparently begging is her weakness, because she nods slowly. Her body remembers exactly how good he can make her feel, because heat pools in her groin as she recalls what he did last time. Getting to the bedroom is a slow process of gentle, exploring kisses. He’s careful to avoid any pressure where he shouldn’t, easing her shirt over her head and frowning when she can’t hold back the pained noise.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and she thinks he might back off if she doesn't insist. His gaze is on those bruises, and he’s probably half right that the movement they’re intending isn’t going to feel good. But she doesn’t want to wait. They’ve waited, because she’s made them wait, and now, it’s been long enough.

“You won’t.” He doesn’t step away as she finishes unbuttoning his shirt, letting her slide it off his shoulders to puddle on the floor. She still doesn’t have skin access, because he’s got an undershirt on. “Off,” she demands, going for his belt.

Rick complies, tossing his undershirt even as she gets past his buckle to unhook his slacks and lower his zipper. When he kisses her this time, her hand is wrapped around warm, hard flesh and the texture of his chest hair against her breasts is enough to make her not care about her bruises. He presses one hand against the small of her back, hips rolling instinctively as she remembers exactly how he showed her to stroke him.

It isn’t the bed she feels as he backs her up, but the warm glass of his bedroom windows. The alarm at the exposure must convey through her body language, because Rick stops kissing her long enough to reach out to flick a switch next to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. Instead of the room being lit by the light of the setting sun, it dims suddenly, the only light now coming from the balcony doors.

“Smart glass,” he tells her, smiling even as he kisses her again. She isn’t the only one getting someone’s pants undone, and her uniform pants being edged down mean it’s not just her naked back against the windows. He captures the hand she has down his own pants. “Later.”

He drops to his knees, freeing her the rest of the way from her clothes. Amanda really needs the support of the window behind her when he kisses the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee. Part of her wants to let him continue the journey upward, because she can remember exactly what it feels like to have his tongue explore her. The more dominant part of her wants something more. 

“Rick.” Her hand in his curls halts him, even as clever fingers drift ahead of his exploring lips, fingertips dipping into her ready, slick wetness to slide across her clit in a way that makes her forget about every ache and pain in her body. She whines when he stops, even though it was her own idea. “I want you.”

The man was so intent on being on his knees in front of her that it takes him a minute to register what she’s asking of him. “You’ll get me, I promise.”

Arguing further is beyond her, because he slides one of her legs over his shoulder, and oh God, it’s better than she remembered when he tastes her. Dropping the hand not in his hair to grip his shoulder, she feels his hands move support her hips. She rocks her body against him, feeling the drag of stubble against her tenderest skin, but it just adds to the heat building between her legs. It’s so close, so fast, and she can’t decide if she wants him to stop or bring her to the climax that’s hovering around the edges of her senses.

Her body decides there’s no waiting, and she cries out Rick’s name as he makes a humming sound that sends her over the edge. Vision white, she just keeps repeating his name as her body shudders. She could have died today, but her body is cued to the fact that she didn’t, and that there’s gentle hands easing her leg back to the floor.

Even as she feels too off balance to stand on her own, she is pliant as Rick turns her to face the windows. The view she’s admired before is obscured by some magic of technology. The city skyline is still visible to an extent, but it’s like there's fog across the buildings now. It shows her own reflection, from her blissed out face to the livid bruises on her torso. He places each of her hands against the glass and kisses her shoulder.

“Hold yourself up for me for just a minute,” Rick asks, gaze intent. The reflection doesn’t allow her to see the rims of bright blue around his pupils, but she knows they’re there. She’s seen him this far gone in arousal before. With an effort of will, she braces her forearms against the glass.

Behind her, she hears clothing rustle, and flashes of movement in the glass let her see Rick stripping away his slacks and boxer briefs. Part of her wants to turn, to see his beautiful body clearly again, but she doesn’t. Pressing himself against her, she can feel his erection as he slides it between her thighs. It’s so close to what she wants that she can’t imagine why he’s waiting. She’s dripping wet and aching for more of him, and there’s no way he can miss it.

Instead, he keeps up the slow stroke of his hips, silken hardness sliding through her folds and rubbing across her already throbbing clitoris. She whimpers, trying to find her voice, even as he begins a slow exploration she can see in the reflection. HIs gaze is intent on following his hands. Jaw, throat, collarbone, lingering along the curves of her breasts and rolling her nipples slowly between thumb and forefinger before his left hand goes lower. The combination of his fingers joining the slow slide of his cock makes her find her voice.

“Now, Rick, dammit. Now.” It’s not begging, not by a long shot. It’s a demand.

He finally complies, letting go of her breast with his right hand to drop down and tug at her hips to angle them outward. She braces against the glass with her forearms even as he guides himself inside. It’s an aching stretch, even with the intensity of the foreplay, because there’s nothing she’s done to please herself in the three years since Luke moved out that compares to feeling Rick inside her. 

When she opens her eyes, she knows he’s going so slowly for a reason. Even without her saying how long she’s been celibate, he knows, somehow. The intensity in his expression makes her ache in ways that are centered more in her chest and not where they’re joined. This isn’t just slaking lust, and she feels a flicker of fear that she locks away. Her self-doubt isn’t taking this moment from her.

Once he’s fully sheathed as deep as he can go, he presses a kiss just under her ear before speaking softly. “Don’t let me hurt you.” His right hand strokes up her hip, tracing the lines of the tattooed cherry blossoms that spiral up from her hip to curl under her ribs on her uninjured side.

Amanda isn’t sure she could feel her injuries right now if she tried, but she manages a hoarse reply. “You won’t.”

His free hand leaves her side to rest over hers against the glass, lacing his fingers with hers even as his lips return back to that soft, tantalizing spot below her ear that makes her moan softly. Rocking against her, Rick’s withdrawal is slow, even as he slides fingers slick with her own earlier climax against her own most aroused flesh. Just when she thinks he’s going to pull out entirely, he sinks back inside. It’s not slow, and she groans at the force of the thrust. “More.”

He obeys the demand, but the movements of his hips are still slow and deliberate, and she can see the muscles in the forearm raised to twine with hers are tense with the control he’s exerting. As much as he wants her, as aroused as he is, this is about her pleasure, and she knows it each time she catches the flash of his eyes in the window. She can feel his breath in pants against her skin, and he starts up a litany of telling her how beautiful she is and how good she feels. It lasts through her body exploding through a second climax, and she can’t hold herself up anymore. Rick catches her, withdrawing long enough to turn her to face him.

Bemusedly, she wonders if he could bring her to a third climax when he’s back inside her, lifting her up. Wrapping her legs around his slim waist is easy enough, and strong fingers dig into the flesh of her ass and thighs to support her weight as he begins to thrust again. As he begins to move within her again, his gaze is focused on her.

It’s when she connects how much he watched her in the reflection before. He needs to see that she still wants him inside her. The intensity is almost too much, and her body is pushing beyond what she’s ever managed during sex. That third wave of pleasure is beyond her right now, she thinks, but dragging him into a kiss isn’t. “You won’t hurt me, Rick. Let go,” she whispers into his ear. “I’m alive. Make me feel it.”

“Oh, Christ, Amanda.” It’s his breaking point, pushing him beyond the reminder that she’s injured. Or maybe that’s part of it, needing to feel that she’s alive and well, just like why she threw caution to the wind and kissed him in the kitchen. He isn’t gentle now, body rough as he thrusts hard enough that she’ll ache in the best ways tomorrow. His hips stutter with his release even as his mouth worries at her throat, leaving a new bruise for her collection, but this one, she welcomes.

It takes an effort of will on Rick’s part to keep them upright, but he manages somehow. He nuzzles kisses along her throat and jaw, finally claiming her lips as he eases her legs back down. She sways against him, smiling through the kiss. Her ribs ache, but it’s a dull throb under the allure of what they just shared.

Rick looks abashed when he finally meets her gaze. “I didn’t hurt you?”

She shakes her head. “Far from it.” Pressing a kiss against his chest, she laughs tiredly as she feels how sweat slick they both are, and she can still feel the grit and smell the gunpowder of her day at work. “We need a shower.”

The gentle exploring caress along her hip ends as he draws back to smile at her. “How about a bath for you? Bet that would feel even better.”

Remembering the big unused bathtub, Amanda decides to give in to luxury for once. “Sounds perfect.”

He leaves her relaxing in a steaming bath that soothes the day’s injuries and adds to the languid pleasure in her body from sex with him, promising the food she distracted him from earlier. Laying in the water, she draws the soft washcloth along her body. Reaching her thighs, she freezes.

In wanting to chase away the lingering anxiety and fear of being shot, she forgot to insist on protection, and the evidence that Rick hadn’t used a condom is on her skin, even in the warm water. Swallowing hard, she fights off the momentary panic. It’s easy enough to pick up the morning after pill at any pharmacy, and even if she can’t use hormonal birth control normally, she knows it should still be effective.

They’ll just have to be more careful next time. It’ll be okay.

~*~*~*~*~

Finding Amanda dozing in the bathtub after he gets the food set out makes Rick lean in to kiss her affectionately, feeling an intense relief when she smiles before playfully swiping a wet hand across his bare shoulder. The warm water is making the bruising bloom further, but she looks too content for him to complain. He suspects she’s probably feeling the early stages of the pain meds she took right before getting into the bathtub.

Instead, he enjoys the sight of her fully naked and relaxed under his gaze. He’d glimpsed flashes of her tattoo before, but both times he hadn’t had the leisure to figure out what it was, other than something floral. It’s actually a slender tree whose branches climb upward to curve under her right breast from her hip, covered in pale pink blossoms. At the base of the tree, there’s a delicately inked heron.

“I’m tempted to join you,” he tells her, thinking he’s going to explore all that ink in detail the first chance he gets. “But your meds say you need to take them with food. You want to eat in the kitchen or in the bedroom?” Hell, if she asked, he’d feed her right here, but he wasn’t thinking of her being in the bath when he made supper.

She laughs, making her breasts bob in the water until he gives in to temptation and cups his hand around one. “I thought it was supposed to be breakfast in bed.”

“We can do that, too, in the morning.” Jesus Christ, after finally feeling her heat around him, the only reason he’s not trying to coax her into round two right now is they’ve already pushed their luck enough with her ribs. Her body had been tight to the point of inexperience, and since he knows she’s had a live-in boyfriend before, he suspects he’s the first man she’s been with in a long time. He could have hurt her so easily at the end when his control failed, and not just her ribs, but he’d been lucky.

Amanda accepts one of his old King County Sheriff’s Department t-shirts, the logo covering the exact spot where one of two slugs could have stolen her away if her ballistic vest had failed today. He’s been a cop too long to completely trust vests, and if that particular bullet had been a few inches higher, it would have missed the protective gear entirely. A bullet to the throat is almost always fatal, and even junkies get lucky. The collar of the shirt does nothing to hide the mark he’d left at the base of her throat. It’s such an immature thing, marking her skin, but he’d remembered the one she left on him and couldn’t resist. 

“Where is this from?” she asks, after making a happy sound as she takes another bite of chicken piccata. The way she shifts on the barstool flashes long bare legs clad only in an old pair of novelty boxer shorts of Rick’s.

Rick motions toward the stove, quirking a half smile at her. “Chef Rick’s.”

Amanda pauses in gathering the whole wheat pasta on her fork. “You cook?”

“It was something I picked up later in life,” he admits. The first few months of realizing he couldn’t make much more than eggs and toast for Carl when he was with him had been humbling. “Grandma Jean gave me a bit of an abrupt crash course after the divorce.” Along with a lot of life advice he should have listened to earlier.

“You made everything I’ve eaten here, haven’t you?” She is starting to look drowsy again, but this time it’s taking on the glassy effect of medication. Half the plate is gone, slowly eaten in the time it took him to finish his food, so he hopes it’s enough.

“Probably. Takeout does make it into the fridge from time to time, especially if it’s just me home.” Whatever she was going to stay in reply is cut off by a huge yawn, which makes her giggle softly. The pain meds are definitely kicking in, and the side effect seems to be making her appear tipsy. “How about we get you tucked into bed?”

Rick tidies her leftovers into the fridge, leaving their plates to wash up later. He is so used to her being almost rudely independent that it’s surprising when she slides off the stool to drape her arms around his waist when he circles back to where she’s sitting. She pets at his chest absently, and he is glad she probably won’t remember his grin about the way she watches her fingers slide through his chest hair. “C’mon, bed’s this way.”

He actually wishes his hallway wasn’t so short, because she’s teasing and affectionate, without a trace of the barriers she normally throws up between them even just as friends. She even backs him up against the wall outside his room, petting his chest again and making an idle observation about how the texture changes when her hand reaches his navel. Then the little wretch realizes he’s actually ticklish there and that sets her off to figure out where else he might be sensitive. If her ribs were in better shape, he’d carry her off, but instead he just enjoys her touch.

Getting Amanda tucked in his bed is easy, although she complains when her ribs make using him for a pillow impractical. The meds apparently make her amorous as well as loopy, because she keeps wriggling against him, seeking lazy kisses. Her wandering hands are back, and instead of looking for ticklish spots, now she’s deliberately looking for erogenous zones. She laughs softly when he arches under her hand as she tweaks a nipple, but smiles slowly when he slips his arms behind her head to give her free reign to explore.

It’s arousing, her curious fingers on his skin, but the urgent need to be inside her isn’t there now, sated just enough earlier. When she tugs at the waistband of his boxer briefs, he sheds them obligingly, spreading his thighs to let her continue to map out everything she wants to touch. Finally, he eases the shorts off her slender hips and discovers the third orgasm she couldn’t reach earlier is achievable as she rides his fingers. If he hadn’t been trying to help her do exactly that, how fast she falls asleep might be hard on his ego.

Rick isn’t optimistic enough to think she won’t run again, so he’s going to enjoy having her close for as long as he can. He’d promised himself to let things go and hope the attraction would fade. But after the desperate need to see for himself that she was okay today? Now that he’s tasted her again and felt her body slowly yield to his? He knows he’s in trouble. 

Pressing his lips against her uninjured temple, he whispers the affection she wouldn’t accept from him yet if she was awake. Of all the risks he’s taken in the last four years, risking his heart for the woman next to him is the most worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's cold, yucky, and wet here, typical southern winter weather. Some nice warm smut is great, right? 
> 
> I just couldn't find a stopping point for the last chapter, and it kept going and going and going... hope you enjoyed!


	16. Lazy Saturday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking next to Rick doesn't make Amanda want to run this time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, more smut for your enjoyment...

Amanda wakes slowly, pain flickering along her senses even as she registers she’s in an unfamiliar bed. The warm - and unmistakably naked - body next to her pings as Rick easily enough when she takes in a deep breath. Memories of yesterday return with a rush: getting shot on the job, Rick pleading with her to stay, and being pressed against the window.

Oh Christ, that memory wars for dominance even over the unending ache in her ribs, heat rushing to her groin. Reaching out with her left arm, she bites her lip to keep from making any noise at the stretch. Her fingers make contact with the base of the touch lamp on the bedside table, bringing it to the lowest level of dim lighting.

That reveals that there’s a bottle of water sitting next to her pain meds, but to take them, she needs to sit up a little. While her ribs forced her to sleep on her back, Rick curled on his left side, arm resting right across her hips as he sleeps. His forehead is against her shoulder. Reaching down to ease his hand back, the adjustment makes him sigh softly and roll to his back. 

The sheet slides away to show that she wasn’t mistaken about him being completely nude, because he’s gloriously on display now. That flickers more memories into place, less clear than having her legs around him against that window. She blushes, thinking about how drunkenly silly she’d gotten with the pain meds and Rick sprawled beneath her hands, letting her explore his contours. It explains why she’s wearing Rick’s t-shirt, but no panties.

Eyeing the medication bottle with a little suspicion, she wonders just if something over the counter might be better. There’s not a lot of medication, actually, just a bare minimum number of pills to give her pain relief for forty-eight hours or so. Deciding to save it for sleeping, she slips out of bed, figuring she can raid Rick’s bathroom for some ibuprofen or something.

Rick’s bathroom counter is actually fairly clean and organized for a bachelor, something she’s noticed before. Everything on the counter is either placed in an organizer caddy or neatly in place by the sink, like his toothbrush in its holder, which also holds the toothpaste and bottle of hand soap. Even his old-fashioned safety razor is in a stand instead of tossed on the counter.

It feels a bit nosy, opening drawers at the double sink, but like most modern apartments, there’s no medicine cabinet. The first drawer holds his hairbrush and miscellaneous grooming items like some sort of hair gel. She gets lucky on the top drawer in the middle, finding a first aid kit and a few bottles of over the counter meds. Snagging the ibuprofen, she takes a dose and returns the bottle to the drawer.

Last time she stayed the night, she brought her bag with her, but last night caught her off guard. Checking another drawer, she’s right that Rick would have spare toothbrushes. Scrubbing away the cottony feel in her mouth with a cinnamon flavored toothpaste instead of mint doesn’t surprise her. Dropping the toothbrush into the holder next to his seems to say something that even sharing his bed didn’t, and she eyes the inoffensive piece of green plastic a little warily as it nestles near Rick’s orange toothbrush.

Her bladder thinks being in the bathroom is a great idea, so she takes care of that issue and washes her hands. Rick still seems to be sleeping when she returns to the bedroom, but she’s restless, probably because she went to sleep hours earlier than usual. Deciding she’s been given free reign here more than once, she finds her missing shorts and dons them before heading to the kitchen. With neither Carl nor Beth here, she won’t be disturbing anyone, and Rick could use the sleep.

Just after four in the morning isn’t too early to eat, she thinks, eying the contents of the fridge. Knowing that Rick cooks makes the stocked fridge logical, but it gives her a lot of choices. There’s leftovers from their supper, and she knows he cooked just for her. The idea makes her feel content in a way she’s not used to, but a pasta dish is not what she wants to eat this early. Not feeling like cooking, she settles for yogurt and fresh berries, taking the container and her water bottle to the couch. Luckily the television is the same model as hers, and she decides to peek at his recorded shows on the DVR. It’s snooping at its finest, but she doesn’t think he’ll care.

“Cooking shows. Not surprising,” she mutters. Knowing he has a history degree, the documentaries aren’t either. The Dirty Jobs episodes make her grin, as do the recorded baseball games. She doesn’t want to accidentally mess up any of his recordings, so she flicks the TV back to the channel list, but it’s too early for anything to be on that she wants to watch. The types of movies that air at this time of day aren’t appealing either, so she turns the TV off and finishes her snack as she wanders the living room, peeking at his bookshelves.

Unlike the well read paperbacks in his bedroom, and the nonfiction books in the study, the books out here look old and expensive. They’re the sort of books someone collects more than reads. She wonders if they’re inherited, knowing what she knows now about his family.

The ibuprofen is starting to take effect, so that her ribs and where she hit her face feel more dull ache than throbbing pain. She rinses her bowl and spoon and debates if she can get back into bed without waking him. Apparently not, because when she gets back to the bedroom, she hears the toilet flush. 

Peeking into the bathroom, she sees Rick drying his hands before reaching for his own toothbrush. He hasn’t spotted her yet, since the angle doesn’t show her in the mirror, so she gets to admire the fact that he’s standing unabashedly naked in front of the mirror as he brushes his teeth. As he turns, he does see her and smiles brightly.

“How are you feeling?” 

“A bit like mincemeat.” After seeing her face in the mirror, she doesn’t really want to peek at her chest. “But I’ll live.”

He comes close, brushing the tips of his fingers gently along her face where the bruising is. There’s affection in the gesture, and it makes her realize just how much Rick touches the people around him. A casual arm thrown around Carl’s shoulders, the teasing way he catches Beth’s hand at times that Amanda doesn’t think is part of his sugar daddy role, and how he always edges toward her when he thinks she won’t chase him off - it’s all part of his need for contact. “How many days off did they give you?”

“Three for the initial injury, officially, and light duty for a month after that.” No sense in stating the obvious, that she’s on administrative leave while the shooting is reviewed, regardless. He knows the procedure better than she does.

Rick hesitates, glancing toward the rumpled bed. “Would you stay the weekend?”

She knows why he’s wary of asking. The last time anything sexual happened between them, she fled while he was in the shower. She bets the first thing he did on waking was look for the clothes they discarded last night. But she made her decision to take the plunge last night. “You gonna cook for me?” she asks teasingly.

“Sure.” The grin that he gives her is quite the reward, but then his gaze slides along her body. His expression shifts from simply happy to heated, and she notes that he’s definitely got a thing for her being dressed in his clothes.

Some devilish impulse leads her to tug the shirt off, and he closes the gap quickly, kissing her as he guides her backward to the bed. There’s a pause to shed her borrowed boxer shorts. She whines just a little as he helps her shift her weight onto the bed, but he doesn’t seem to be in any particular hurry once he’s lying alongside her.

Kissing him is different in the morning, because he hasn’t shaved yet, and the scruff changes the texture of his jaw as she slides her hand along it. He also likes her touching his face, and the flash of memory from him relaxing while she explored his body resurfaces. “Lay back.”

He arches a brow, but rolls to his back. As soon as she slides a palm onto his chest, he smiles and tucks his arms behind his head again. “Gonna pet me again?” he asks huskily.

“Maybe.” This time, she’s going to make sure he enjoys it as much as she did last night. They aren’t rushed, and she can take her time. With both bedside lamps brightening the room, she catches glints of silver among the dark hair on his chest. He doesn’t have the heavier build of a man that does weight training, but he’s in good shape. She’d just about bet he’s a runner or maybe a swimmer.

Resting astride his thighs, she smiles down at him, knowing it’s a tease for both of them, especially when his cock twitches and he swallows hard. But those hands stay put, blue eyes watching her with an intentness that makes her own body respond. Trailing her fingers down from the coarser hair of his chest, she strokes the narrow trail of silkier hair that leads past his navel. 

“You’re ticklish here,” she muses, flicking her thumb close to the spot in question. Not far below it is a set of scars, about a half inch in size on each, that remind her of the scar Merle has from a hernia surgery a few years ago.

“Yeah, and a few other places. You seemed fascinated with that one last night.” He’s content and amused, though.

Considering she’s never known anyone ticklish there, she can only imagine what her medication-drunk mind thought of it. Glancing up at him, feeling a little uncharacteristically shy about it, she admits, “I like it when you laugh.”

“Oh.” His smile widens, and damn, it makes him look far younger than a grown man of almost forty.

She trails her hands lower, past where the hair texture changes again at his groin. It’s neatly trimmed, which isn’t surprising with the grooming emphasis she’s seen him have. This is the first time she’s really looked at him when he’s not fully erect, and honestly, she is unsure how she missed that he’s not circumcised. It might explain how easy the handjob was the other morning, though. Hesitating as she glides a thumb along the silken skin of the shaft below his foreskin, she glances up at him. “I can’t hurt you, can I?”

“Long as you don’t yank it back, no.” His breath catches as she explores, one hand gripping carefully as he slowly grows erect, and the other dropping to cup his balls. He can’t stay still then, despite her weight, hips arching into her touch especially when she lets her fingers brush the sensitive skin behind his balls. “Oh, Jesus, Amanda. That feels so damn good.”

Part of her wants to finish him just like this, watching him fall apart under her touch, but she’s aching as her body remembers how good he feels inside her. With most of the work in her hips and thighs, it shouldn’t hurt her ribs, so she starts to ease forward, only to have him finally move, dropping a warm hand to one of her hips. “Wait a minute,” he manages.

His other hand is fumbling with a box in the headboard that she had thought looked decorative, fishing out a condom as he lets her hip go. Watching as he opens it and drips a splash of lube into the tip from a tiny bottle in the same box, she can’t believe she almost forgot they’d skipped a condom last night. Christ, it’s like she wants to screw this up.

~*~*~*~

When Amanda moves from her spot across his thighs, Rick remembers with an uneasy feeling that he forgot something important to them both last night. He knows they’re both clean, too many physicals done for work, and she’s not the type to hide something like that. But they haven’t discussed birth control, and he’s not immature enough to just assume she’s covered. The odds are against an accidental conception on his part, but why take chances?

She stills when he touches her hip, her expression turning confused until he gets the condom out of the box and prepped. There’s a tiny furrow in her eyebrows, but it gives way to curiosity as he shows her how to retract the foreskin fully and ease the condom on. “Gotta keep a good grip,” he cautions. “It can slingshot off if you don’t.”

The feel of her hands, smaller than his and gentler as she keeps careful hold on the base of the condom to keep it in place as his foreskin slides back forward under the latex, makes him harder than the more determined stroking she was doing as she brought him to full arousal. She laughs softly, smirking at him even as she runs a finger on her free hand down the skin behind his balls, making him curse softly and groan. “Know that from experience?”

“Maybe.” Anything more gets lost in the fact that she lowers herself onto him, and her thighs flex as she rocks, teasing him further. “Jesus, woman.”

He thought watching her in the glass last night was erotic, but this is so fucking much better. She takes her time, teasing him with each rise and fall of her hips, that smirk from earlier sticking around with each time she makes him vocalize. Her small breasts sway and bounce, and he can almost ignore the livid bruising, keeping his hands on her hips instead of reaching for that temptation. Bruising will fade, and if he’s lucky, feeling like this - having her pull him closer and closer to the edge with her - won’t.

The teasing is having its own effect on her, with sweat glistening across her skin even as the sun begins to filter into the room. It makes her skin glow like some old world goddess, and he begs, because he needs more than this slow pace designed to drive him right out of his mind wanting her. “Faster, please, dammit.”

Punctuating that plea with a flick of his thumb across her clit makes her cry out his name. She picks up the pace, but there’s a flash of pain in her expression that tells him it’s not a pace she can set right now, not under her own power. “Amanda, stop. It’s hurting you.”

Disappointment flashes across her features, but she stills instantly. He levers himself up, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her slowly, willing his body under control just a while longer. She’d been okay for the most part last night, but the day after an injury is always worse. Guilt flickers in his mind, because they hadn’t had to go this far to enjoy each other. 

When she ducks her head against his shoulder, making a frustrated groan, he slips his hand between them. It doesn’t take long for her to be panting, soft cries against his shoulder as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. The way her body clamps down on him when she finishes is exquisite, not enough, but damn, he likes the feeling, just like he had last night.

The kiss after is worth it, making him groan against her, but he doesn’t expect the little push she gives him. There’s a rush of cold that doesn’t last long as she strips away the condom and begins a firm stroke that makes him wonder if she memorized him from doing that just once. She looks fierce and in control, and suddenly he doesn’t care that it's ending differently than he craved at first. Her other hand finds his perineum again, pressing just right by luck or accident, and he spills all over his stomach. 

By the time he can open his eyes, she’s wearing a sly grin, still sitting astride his thighs. He grins in return, catching her closest hand and kissing the palm. “Damned magic fingers,” he growls softly. He can’t wait for her to heal, because that creative determination is going to drive him insane in all the best ways.

“I think we need a shower.”

Grinning, Rick agrees. Last night she’d lounged in the tub, but today, he wants to spend that time together. “And breakfast. How’s an omelette sound?”

He’s smart enough not to say it, but having Amanda with him in the oversized shower is a great way to start off a Saturday morning. They move easily in getting clean, and she accepts his affectionate kisses and returns a few of her own. He hasn’t forgotten the sight of that extra toothbrush settled in the holder. It doesn’t mean anything, not really, but dammit, he likes the sight of it next to his.

Loaning her one of his short sleeved button up shirts is a bit of a tease to him, but much easier for her to put on than the t-shirt would be. Paired with his boxers again, she glances at them once they’re in the kitchen while he’s getting everything out of the fridge for their breakfast after she tells him to surprise her on the filling. “I’m guessing these were some sort of gag gift?”

Rick laughs, separating the eggs and putting the yolks in a container to use for something he’ll take to work for his detectives. He stuck to his regular boxer briefs when he got dressed, although he slipped on a plain blue t-shirt, because cooking shirtless is definitely not in the cards. “Carl gave them to me for Father’s Day right after I got the car. He calls the color rubber duck yellow.”

“I think these ducks are a few shades brighter than the Mustang.” She winces as she slides onto a barstool, and he pauses to fetch an ice pack from the freezer. “I should have remembered this last night.”

“Me, too. Not the first time I’ve dealt with busted ribs.” Amanda holds the icepack in place, using the dish towel he passes her to keep her hand from getting chilled. When he darts a worried look at her, she just smiles. “Car accident when I was twenty in college and dumb enough not to have my seat belt.”

Cooking the tomatoes and spinach takes just a few minutes, and he stirs while he speaks. “I’ve only ever broken a bone once. Fell out of a tree when I was nine. Shane was the one who collected a variety. Most from football, but once same as you. Another time…” It’s been ten years, and he still feels that icy fear. “Got tagged in the leg.”

She looks thoughtful as he eases the veggies into a bowl, covering it, and prepping the omelette pan for the egg whites, two whole eggs, and milk he beats together. “They saw him as the bigger threat, didn’t they? Especially the ones willing to actually shoot.” When he glances up from tending the first omelette, she’s looking solemn as she continues. “Seen it before. They always aimed at Bob, when he and I were partnered, whether they shot or not.”

Rick nods, glad she gets it. It’s something he and Shane never openly acknowledged, and he’s glad, because his brother never wanted to be a cop at all. Ironic that once he discovered he was good at it, Shane aimed for the top, where Rick would have been happy on patrol for his entire career.

“Yesterday, it surprised me.” She sighs, the sound deep and heavy. “That he took the gun off Jeffries to aim for me. I think he was trying to provoke us, because he talked for a minute. Wasn’t startled. Jesus.” When he starts toward her, she waves him back to their breakfast. “Hug later. Feed me first, because that smells heavenly.”

He can handle later, and hers is just about done. He spoons half the tomato and spinach mixture onto half the omelette, topping it with basil and feta. Folding it over, he slide it onto a plate and places it and a fork in front of her. “As requested.”

It makes her smile, chasing away the shadowed, haunted look. It doesn’t take long to finish his own food, and he isn’t surprised to see hers is half gone before he’s seated. Amanda definitely isn’t shy about enjoying her food, and it’s something he likes about her. She’s considering their plates with more than just good appetite, though.

“Something wrong?” he asks, taking a bite. Everything tastes fine, as far as he can tell.

“I was just wondering about how you eat,” she admits. “Someone like me or Shane, we eat a certain way because of our exercise regimens. I’m just curious, because you seem a little more laid back than either of us.”

It’s a reasonable curiosity, all things considered. “My father, both grandfathers, and multiple uncles all had heart attacks before they were fifty,” he admits quietly. “None of the ones who had that happen lived past sixty. When my dad died six years ago, it scared the hell out of Lori. He was the fifth of his siblings to die of something heart related.”

In the wake of the funeral, their house looked like an explosion of everything his ex-wife could lay hands on regarding heart health, and as much as he’d initially hated the changes she’d instituted, it was done out of love. He did cheat on the diet regularly enough before the divorce, but ironically, guilt about that lingered, too. Now it’s just second nature that ninety percent of his meals look awfully similar to the meal plans his father’s expensive nutritionist formulated, only for Joseph Grimes to ignore them.

Rick motions toward a rack of cookbooks on the counter. “Lori still buys me cookbooks every year for my birthday.”

“Huh. Makes sense.” She finishes her last bite and sighs happily. “If everything you cook is like what I’ve tried so far, you certainly figured out how to make it enjoyable.”

“Ah. Keep you fed and happy, and you’ll stick around.” 

It’s meant as a joke, and she takes it that way, but it’s too close to the truth of what he wants. She just smiles and slides off her stool, going to put her ice pack back in the freezer and hanging the towel up. “My phone's battery is dead. You got a charger I can borrow?”

"Of course. Probably got a half dozen hidden around. I’ll go get it. You can take over the couch and claim the remote.” He takes the last bite of his food and stands, heading for the study to get the spare he keeps in there.

Amanda is tidying up the kitchen when he returns, settling the dishes he used into the dishwasher alongside last nights. "Want me to start it?" she asks, glancing up and smiling.

He draws her in for a sweet, chaste kiss. "Nah. I'll do that. You rescue your phone. Need to touch base with anyone?” Rick asks, curious, because he’s a little ashamed that he didn’t verify with her that she’d talked to her brothers yesterday.

Amanda switches the phone on once she's got it plugged into one of the kitchen outlets, shaking her head. “I talked to Daryl and Merle before I left the hospital, and then I texted Daryl I was on the way over here when I was in the cab.”

The pings of messages alert her, but she only scrolls through. “Got a meeting with the department shrink at one on Monday, Carol had a false alarm with the baby changing it’s mind about arriving, and Daryl apparently guessed I didn’t go home.” She’s blushing, just a little, as she replies to the texts, and he decides he might not want to know.

After thunking the phone on the counter, she pulls him in for a kiss. “All done. I believe I was promised control of the remote.”

Rick can’t help grinning as they settle on the couch, especially when she leans up against him like they’ve been spending lazy Saturday mornings together forever. After how many times she’s opened up briefly only to return to her uptight persona, he’s reveling in being let inside her guard at last. Handing over the remote, he’s curious as to what she likes to watch. She flicks idly through the onscreen guide before humming to herself.

“Anything good in your recordings?” she asks after ascertaining that they’re definitely up too early for anything interesting on live TV this morning. “I took a peek when I first woke up.”

“I won’t suggest baseball,” he teases, stealing the remote and activating an app on the TV. “And I do have Netflix.”

“Movies. Yes.” Although she quips a few times about his viewing history, it doesn’t take her long to find something from the suggestions in the list. 

Rick tugs the blanket off the back of the couch, draping the soft fabric over her bare legs. When she makes a contented sound and cuddles into him even further, he wouldn’t be able to hide the besotted expression on his face if he tried. Luckily, she isn’t looking, but a kiss pressed to her temple distracts her enough to smile up at him.

Last night, her willingness to snuggle close was something he had to attribute to the painkillers. Today? He knows she’s avoided the prescription. This is all her, and despite all his cautions to himself, he allows himself to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I'm not really detailed on genitalia, body hair, etc, because everyone has a different idea of what suits, and I like letting people fill in their own blanks. However, it just fit to get a little more descriptive to make the scene lighter than last chapter's intensity. 😉


	17. She Came Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday brings the real world in to wrap up Amanda and Rick's cozy domestic weekend, but Amanda isn't ready for it to end this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was _not_ supposed to be a smut chapter, but they had other ideas near the end.

The tiny pessimistic voice in the back of Rick’s mind grows quieter with each hour Amanda stays. It’s a quiet, domestic weekend, the kind he didn’t understand he should enjoy back when he was married, until half his weekends were spent completely alone. Their time together started off with pretty amazing sex, but since then, it’s just been a sort of quiet cuddling and a lot of leisurely kisses.

She wasn’t prepared for a full weekend here, but doesn’t seem to have cared that she’s wearing his clothes, even after he ran her uniform pants, panties, and socks through the wash. Her uniform shirt, undershirt, and sports bra were all pretty much unsalvageable. He almost offered to run her over to her apartment, or to just go himself if she wanted to trust him with her keys, but that was the one part of the pessimism that stayed. Mention her own apartment, and she might leave.

Now it’s getting toward time to start supper on Sunday afternoon. She’s sitting at the kitchen island, watching him in amusement as he carries a basket of folded laundry to Carl’s room. When he returns, he pauses on the kitchen side of the island, arching a brow. “What’s so funny?”

“Just a little odd, seeing you doing laundry. I guess I figured you’d send it downstairs, to be honest.”

Rick shrugs, understanding the expectation. “I do send my dry cleaning and Carl’s school uniforms down, but it’s easier to just do the rest myself. If things get busy at work, it’s nice to have the option for the laundry service if I need it, I suppose.”

Honestly, without owning a house he’s living in, his household chores are pretty slim. There’s no lawncare and no maintenance. He doesn’t even take advantage of the service to tend the balcony greenery, since he’s capable of trimming back bushes and making sure they get enough water.

“Find anything you want to do for supper?” he asks, changing the subject to the cookbook she’s been studying. He’s cooked for them all weekend, but tonight she asked to help. “If we don’t have all the ingredients, I can run downstairs pretty quickly.”

“Are you in the mood for vegetarian tonight?” She has one finger caught in one spot in the book while she looks at another recipe.

Last night, they’d had honey garlic shrimp, and Friday night had been a pasta dish with chicken. “Sounds good.”

“Alright, then this one.” She spins the cookbook, letting him see the eggplant rollatini recipe. “Show me how to make it?”

The idea of cooking alongside her, especially teaching, appeals in a way that makes Rick grin. “How serious do you want to get with it?” he asks, pointing to the recipe just calling for two cups of marinara sauce.

“Sure, let’s make all of it then, if you know how.”

“I’ll need to run downstairs for about half of this, but it won’t take long.”

“Anything I can start? I’m a fair hand with chopping veggies and prep. It’s the cooking part that gets too complicated sometimes.”

Rick goes to the two-tier basket on the counter where he keeps the fruits and vegetables that aren’t refrigerated and counts out five Roma tomatoes before including the sixth since it’ll be a leftover. “Chop those up. Doesn’t have to look pretty, since it’ll go in the food processor to pulse down to salsa consistency.”

She’s familiar enough with the kitchen from watching him cook that she moves easily to find the cutting board and a knife. Stealing a quick kiss, he snags his wallet, slips on shoes, and makes the trip downstairs to the market next door. It doesn’t take long to gather up the extra ingredients. One of the reasons he liked this building was the market downstairs, because buying a week’s worth of food in his line of work is a guarantee the fresh food will spoil on a busy week.

“This look good?” Amanda asks as he returns, emptying the shopping bag of its contents. 

“Yeah.” He sets a saute pan on the stove and adds the olive oil. “Two tablespoons, thereabouts. You know how to mince garlic?”

“Squish it in the press.” She finds the garlic press easily, and her assent makes him chuckle as she starts taking garlic cloves out of the counter basket. “How much?”

“Two for this, and we’ll need two for the other, if you want to go ahead with that.” When she brings him the dish, he tips half of it into the saute pan. “Cook for about a minute. Just enough to make it start really smelling good. Pass me the tomatoes?”

Amanda hands over the bowl from the food processor and watches as he pours it in. “We’ll bring this to a boil, then slow to a simmer. We’ll need to slice the eggplant and salt them just a bit. I usually use a mandolin to make the slices even. You want to do that or keep an eye on the sauce?”

“Why this kind of pan? Not a saucepan?” She steps up to the saute pan, giving it a little stir.

“More surface helps the liquid evaporate faster. Grandma Jean swears it makes the fresh tomato taste better, too, but she also says it’ll make an actual Italian cook shudder because it cooks too fast. If I was making the sauce for pasta, I would add in some onion and red pepper flakes, but since it’s going with the rollatini, it doesn’t need as much of its own kick.” 

He retrieves the mandoline, making quick work of creating the long, thin strips of eggplant. Salting them and setting them aside to rest, he eyes the sauce. “A lot of people use fresh herbs, but I’ve never tried to keep the plants like Grandma Jean does. I found frozen works okay, too.”

“Why can I picture you with a row of little plants in here?” Amanda teases, smiling. 

Rick just smiles back. “Maybe over by the balcony, one of these days. Until now, dried basil will have to make do. Most recipes use oregano, but basil makes it a bit sweeter, without adding sugar.” He sprinkles some in as she reduces the heat to a simmer. “Now that simmers a while. Just needs a stir now and then.”

The rest of the eggplant rollatini is easy enough to assemble, sauteing the minced garlic onion with chopped zucchini while the eggplant bakes in the oven. Amanda does that while he mixes the shredded mozzarella, ricotta, and Parmesan with the basil and egg white and preheats the oven. Mixing those together finishes up just as the marinara does.

“Half the marinara in the baking dish,” he tells her, keeping only half an eye on that as he spoons the zucchini mixture onto a slice of eggplant and rolls it up to put in the baking dish. She watches him make a second one before joining him. Two hands make quick work, so he covers the eggplant rolls with the rest of the marinara and layers sliced mozzarella on top before popping it in the oven. “Twenty minutes until done.”

“And what can we do in twenty minutes?” she asks.

It turns out, the twenty minutes until the oven timer bings is perfect for a slow exploration of each other on the couch. He thought that the heated makeout session to fool Gorman had been enticing, but it’s nothing on this. Supper proves a diversion, but they manage to finish what they started on the couch when they shower, still taking care due to her injuries to avoid full on sex.

Waking next to her Monday morning makes him wish he didn’t have to go to work. She’s propped on the nest of pillows that make a slight incline to ease her ribs while she sleeps. Although she doesn’t have to be up early, he isn’t surprised when she’s awake when he comes out of the bathroom after getting mostly ready.

“Good morning,” he says softly, rounding the bed to kiss her softly. “I gotta get ready and head out. You sure you’re going to be okay taking cabs today? Beth could maybe help you get your car from work and get it home. Her last class ends at three.” The girl hadn’t returned to the apartment last night, texting she was staying at the dorm after getting back from her parents’.

“Doesn’t she have to work tonight?” Amanda yawns, watching sleepily as he moves around the room to his dresser to put on cologne. “And that’s where you keep it. I was wondering?”

Rick glances at the cologne bottle and laughs as he settles in back in the lidded box on top of his dresser alongside the other bottles. “It’s best stored away from light, thus the box. But yeah, she has to be at work by five.”

Amanda doesn’t raise any further objections, so he sneaks another kiss. “Good luck today. Call me if you wanna bitch about finicky shrinks.” She laughs, and he’s on his way to get his Monday started. A part of him wants to ask her to come back to the apartment after taking care of her appointment and getting her car back to her apartment, but he knows if he presses, she’s even more likely to run.

He can handle time on his own. Maybe next weekend will be long enough not to spook her with another invitation.

~*~*~*~

It’s a little surprising how reluctant Amanda is to get out of bed once Rick leaves the room, carrying his suit jacket. After a weekend of seeing him in casual clothing, seeing him back in trousers and a dress shirt makes her think she’s got a kink for that particular outfit on him. Considering it’s what he was wearing on Friday, she supposes it makes sense.

She’s half dozing on the pillows when she realizes he’s back in the room, this time with a lap tray. He gives her an almost shy, boyish smile. “You mentioned breakfast in bed Friday night, but you went into the kitchen with me both mornings.”

“You cooked on a work morning?” Breakfast is the one thing Amanda doesn’t have tucked in her freezer thanks to Carol’s help. It usually means a muffin on the way out the door, on work days, at least. Eating with Rick here had meant Greek yogurt oat pancakes on Saturday and whole wheat cinnamon rolls on Sunday. Those had been one of Jean’s adapted recipes, cooked from frozen that the elderly woman had given him. Rick swears baking isn’t in his skillset.

“Prepped ahead and frozen,” he admits. “Sometimes it’s easier to make more than one. Quesadilla with egg whites, spinach, mushroom, and cheese.” There are scattering of mixed berries on the plate as well.

She doesn’t have to take a deep breath to know it is going to taste wonderful, even though the tortilla looks to be something that probably isn’t white flour and the cheese will be low-fat. Although she’s never seen Rick drink coffee, there’s a cup on her tray, just like he’s made for her with his little glass coffee gadget that looks like it belongs in a chemistry lab. 

“Where is yours?” she asks, cupping the mug of coffee and enjoying the aroma. Whatever his blend is, it doesn’t need sugar or cream, and it’s spoiling her.

“Ate while I was getting yours ready. I really do have to go.”

Amanda initiates the kiss this time, careful not to muss his hair. He tastes of peppermint, probably from whatever tea he made while waiting on her coffee. Waiting until he’s almost out the bedroom door, before she can change her mind, she calls out, “Stay safe out there.”

Dear God, the smile he gives her is blinding and tugs at a place deep in her heart. He nods, disappearing with that quiet efficiency he always moves with.

Breakfast doesn’t take long, nor does tidying away her dishes or figuring out something that passes for dressed enough to take a cab. Luckily, she’s got free rein on borrowing Rick’s shirts, so she layers a tank top style undershirt under a dark t-shirt to hide her lack of a bra. Although there are hours left before she has to be at the department shrink’s office, she feels restless in his apartment alone. 

Once she reasonably thinks Beth is awake, she texts the girl. For Rick to suggest it, Beth probably brought it up first, and she doesn’t want to hurt Beth’s feelings. The perky reply makes her smile, even as she takes the elevator down to meet her cab. While having Rick help her with the car after work is an option, they really shouldn’t overlap in case of Gorman’s buddies seeing them together. It’s something she considers even with Beth, so she hasn’t decided about asking her even when she gets back to her apartment.

Everything is in order when she gets home, but that’s to be expected. The joys of a pet like Tanith is that she’s low maintenance compared to more common pets. She’s been just fine on her own for a few days, since she usually eats once every two weeks and can go longer between eggs without starving.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Amanda locates Tanith as she checks out the vivarium, making sure everything is in working order. The little snake peers out from where she’s tucked in one of her hiding places, obviously expecting to be fed. Dropping a quail egg in doesn’t take long either, and Amanda goes to strip away her oddly matched clothes.

Wearing Rick’s clothes all weekend has given her mixed feelings. When Luke lived here, she never really felt the urge to borrow one of his t-shirts, and she certainly hadn’t worn his boxers for shorts. Granted, she doesn’t think Rick’s ever donned either of the pairs he loaned her, the rubber ducky themed ones or the ones with the dancing Christmas trees, but still… they’re his.

After a shower, she eases her way into a nice set of black slacks and a blouse. She could show up to the shrink’s in jeans and a t-shirt, but it just seems weird while doing something for work. Doing what housework that can’t wait and her ribs allow kills enough time for it to be late enough for a quick lunch before taking a cab to get the shrink visit out of the way.

The visit is relatively pain free, as is her check in with the lieutenant, who confirms she’s cleared with the department to return to limited duty based on her medical assessment. Texting Rick that she’s done and clear on all fronts, she doesn’t expect him to call right away, not when he’s working.

But her phone rings just as the cab arrives to whisk her away from the front of the fancy building the shrink has her offices in. She gives her address before answering. “Hey. Slow day?”

Rick chuckles. “The sort of slow that makes you know you can’t avoid the paperwork backup. I can’t complain that any thefts over the weekend were made by people too stupid to avoid getting caught, right?”

“I used to complain about those, because it didn’t seem worth the paperwork, but at least they make the public happy.” Scenery zips by as the cabbie navigates the early afternoon traffic.

“It also makes the bosses happy. The ones who don’t slog through the paperwork, anyway.” There’s speaking in the background, but Rick doesn’t cover the phone to reply that he’ll be down in a few. “Sorry. Apparently, there’s birthday cake in the building.”

Amanda finds herself smiling. “Am I keeping you from getting an afternoon sugar rush? Might be a flavor you like, you know.”

“I doubt that. Always seems like office cakes are chocolate or vanilla of some sort.”

“And you like lemon and berries and everything with a bite to it.”

That gets her a full on laugh. “You’ve got me all figured out. I don’t care much for most cake icing, but give me Grandma Jean’s lemon pound cake, and I feel like I could eat the whole thing in one sitting. She used to serve it up to me and Shane at least once a month when we were kids. Got anything that tempting for you?”

Amanda absorbs the favorite cake information and mulls over her answer. It would be easiest to say chocolate, and it’s such a mundane answer no one ever questions it. But Rick’s ability to answer any question with such background tidbits like his favorite cake makes her take a leap of faith yet again where he’s concerned. “Fairy cakes. My adoptive mother taught me to make them when I was still so small I had to stand on a stool to help.”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever had them,” Rick replies. He’s walking now, because she can hear the background sounds changing. “Maybe you can teach me, although Grandma Jean declared me pretty helpless at baking.”

“Maybe I should ask her just how bad you are at it first.”

He makes an amused noise, then sighs a little. “I gotta go. Deputy Chief is headed my way with that ‘I need to talk’ expression.”

She bids him farewell, and the timing is good because she’s reached her apartment. Beth will be out of class in an hour, and she’d forgotten Beth’s getting rides from the undercover deputy. Even though Shane’s reasonably certain that Gorman’s lost interest in Beth, the Sheriff made him leave Tara in place for now. Amanda suspects that Tara is probably doing a bit of investigating of her own. She would, in the same position.

Facing the quiet apartment makes her truly unsettled for the first time since Luke left. It probably isn’t a coincidence that she’s thought more of her ex-boyfriend in the month or so since she met Rick. Luke wasn’t a bad man, because they never would have made it three years, most of that living together, if he had been.

But the sweet and gentle music teacher hadn’t been able to handle her career in the end. Not the day to day of it. He handled the shift work with aplomb and even the overtime. It had been the other time she got shot that ended things. A week into not having Bob Lamson as her partner, a ricocheted bullet landed her in the emergency room to get seven stitches in her lower left calf. That had been the one reality Luke couldn’t handle.

Facing her own bedroom window, she thinks about Rick’s very different reaction and something warm burrows right inside her carefully protected heart. Before she can second guess herself, she pulls a spare duffel bag out of her closet and packs a few things. She isn’t yet ready to be home alone, not when Rick so obviously resisted the urge to ask her to stay again.

Heading down to meet Beth and Tara, she realizes the stairs here would be hell if she stays. Beth quirks an eyebrow at the fact that she’s got the duffel, but just smiles and surprises Amanda by settling a college ball cap on her head and popping into the driver’s seat after introducing them. “I figured with y’all concerned about the asshole or his buddies seeing me, best to let Tara help move your car. I’ll just follow y’all back to your place.”

Tara motions Amanda to the front seat after letting her put the duffel in the back, relaxing into the back of the tiny hatchback car. “I tell you one thing, Shepherd, I will be glad to have my truck back. This thing is like driving a sardine can.”

Amanda just smiles at the dark haired woman. “Once you get used to Atlanta traffic, you may want it back.”

“I’ll take it up with Major Walsh then, but I figure on getting me a place out in the sticks. No sense deliberately subjecting myself to traffic in the long run.”

The two younger women chat easily, since they have Tara actually taking classes that overlap Beth’s just enough for comfort and not enough to look weird. It’s actually soothing to hear them talking about everyday things like college classes, even though she knows why they know each other at all. Amanda lets herself doze until they reach the station, slipping out of the car when Beth finds a spot in the main lot. 

Tara bids the blonde goodbye, following Amanda to her car. Conversation with the young deputy is the usual sort for two cops who’ve just met, with an added helping of advice for a rookie. When they get Amanda’s car parked, Tara looks around curiously. “Will your car be okay here?”

“Yeah. Downstairs neighbor is retired. She’ll keep a very nosy eye out.” 

The girls drop Amanda by Rick’s building without any comment from either about the destination. Sore and achy from the level of movement, she takes some ibuprofen, eases out of the clothes bra she braved for her meeting, and climbs back into bed in little more than another of Rick’s t-shirts and panties. Sleep comes fast, with her briefly wondering if maybe she should hold off on office duty at least a few days longer.

~*~*~*~

Coming home to the quiet apartment makes Rick sigh, just a little. He knows Beth will be back later tonight, since she texted him earlier in the day that she would need a ride after work. But that’ll be practically bedtime, so he’s got an entire evening alone to look forward to.

Maybe he should get a dog. There’s a dog walking service in the building, and while he couldn’t adopt one of the dog fighting ring dogs due to their breed, he knows the animal shelters are always full. Filing it away as something to look into, he heads toward the bedroom to put away his jacket, tie, and work shoes, only to stop short.

Almost as if she never left the apartment today at all, Amanda’s sound asleep on the pile of pillows. She’s wearing a different t-shirt than this morning, and he can see a substantial duffel bag sitting on the bench at the end of the bed. Amanda left - and _she came back_.

Putting away his duty weapon and backup in the gun safe in the bedroom, he debates just slipping in bed with her, but she probably doesn’t need to sleep much longer. Instead, he hangs up his jacket and discards his tie. His movements wake her, like he expected, and he can tell when she’s uncertain of her decision to come back.

“Do you know that I’m seeing the best thing I’ve seen since seven a.m. right now?” It makes her smile, even as he crawls onto the bed to claim a kiss he’s tempted to amp up from chaste. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” she admits. “Lot of in and out of cars, plus I really didn’t think about the stairs at my apartment.”

“No need for stairs here,” he remarks. That can’t be the reason she came back, because he knows enough about her personality by now to know she would tough it out or go to Daryl and Lori’s if she couldn’t. 

“The elevator is quite nice.” She reaches up to play with the buttons of his shirt. “Did your day stay boring and paperwork filled?”

“Mostly. Had someone steal a labradoodle out of a backyard. Damn thing qualifies as felony theft, did you know?”

“Expensive pet. Did they find the dog?”

“Caught the idiot on security camera, but no, we haven’t found them yet. Just a matter of time once it goes on social media, though. People get really worked up about stealing dogs. Worse than taking someone’s car.”

It takes him a minute to realize that Amanda’s unbuttoning his shirt, since she’s being a bit sneaky about it. His body gets on board with the idea of her getting his clothes off pretty quickly, so he slips a hand under the covers, finding bare hip and a barely there scrap of panties. Smoothing his hand along her flat belly up to cup one breast makes her stop unbuttoning to drag him down for a kiss.

They haven’t had sex of any caliber since Saturday morning’s attempt that definitely hurt her ribs. He pulls back long enough to ask, “You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Rick nods and stands up, shedding clothes with ease, her intent expression on each bit of revealed skin more enticing than he thought it would be. He returns to the bed to find she’s eased her pillows away enough to lay down. Since she’s leaving the t-shirt in place, he just slides it up, nuzzling at her chest while one of her hands tangles in his curls and the other strokes along what part of his back she can reach.

The weekend of teasing each other is catching up with him, but a quiet slip of his hand reveals it’s the same for her. She’s soaked completely through her panties by the time he kneels and eases them off. Searching her expression for any sign of pain, he sees only arousal as he reaches for a condom.

Sliding inside her feels just as good as it did the other times, and he pauses for a minute to reign in his own control, panting softly against her shoulder. “Jesus, you feel good, Amanda. So good.” Keeping his weight off her chest carefully, he begins a slow roll of his hips while watching her reactions.

“I’m fine, Rick,” she mutters softly, sounding a little frustrated. “Not gonna break. Please don’t act like I will, dammit.”

There’s an undercurrent of something in her voice, an anxiety he doesn’t like, so he picks up the pace. One of her hands is on his hip, grip changing and flexing as she reacts to his movements, but the other… the brush of her knuckles against the sensitive skin of his groin tells him where she’s headed even before her fingers add to the sensation as she strokes her own clitoris.

It lets him concentrate on following her request, feeling the pressure build in his own body, but keeping braced on his forearms even as he rests his forehead on hers. “Feels too good. You’re so goddamn strong.” She’s no delicate flower, her body taking as much from his as it yields to it.

She’s climaxing, body surging against his briefly as she makes a high pitched cry of his name. It takes him a little longer, but she’s making these soft little sounds of pleasure with each stroke of his hips that make him finally tumble after her. He shifts his head to her shoulder as his body finds release powerful enough that it feels like his toes curl.

Finally, Rick raises up to kiss her gently, although his shoulders are starting to cramp, so it’s brief as he carefully rolls to lay beside her and dispose of the condom. She’s smiling a little bemusedly when he returns to his side, idly stroking his hand along all the bare skin on display below where her t-shirt is puddled along the top of her breasts. Her response is like a contented cat, shifting beneath his touch.

“That was worth waiting for,” he tells her.

“It was.”

Before he can ask her about what she’d said, that note of anxiety, her phone rings. Groaning, she eyes it with distaste, so he reaches for it to save her the stretch on her injured side. “Uh oh. It’s Merle.”

Amanda’s eyes light up. “If he’s calling, it’s the baby.”

Her excitement makes him smile, so Rick relaxes beside her as she has the short conversation with her brother, confirming her theory. It doesn’t take long before she’s hanging up.

“Carol went to the hospital this morning, but they didn’t want to call everyone down until it was closer to time.” She’s trying to get up, so Rick offers himself to brace against, even as she holds a pillow to her ribs to make the attempt. “Doctor says within the hour.”

She goes hunting for clothes in her bag, so Rick reaches for his discarded boxer briefs. “Need a ride?”

It makes her pause, and she blinks at him for a minute, green eyes intent. But finally she nods. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Rick just smiles as he pulls on jeans and a shirt, because she might be leaving his bed in a hurry, but this time, it’s for joyful reasons and not fear. He’ll figure out what was bothering her another time, because today? Amanda’s family is about to get larger by the addition of a very important new person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Carol, at least next chapter is a guarantee of that baby finally arriving, right?
> 
> My middle child got to play chef's consultant for his mama for this chapter. Due to an allergy to garlic and onions (all alliums, truly), I can't handle either item at all. I live vicariously through writing about yummy food with garlic, I swear it... while my kids refer to me as Mama Vampire. 😂


	18. Ain't Wired for That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Dixon's arrival sparks confusion for Amanda regarding Rick, while Daryl's shovel talk to Rick takes a unique turn.

It honestly doesn’t take all that long to make it to the hospital, and Amanda thinks she prefers this trip to the last one she made. Then again, anyone would prefer a trip where they didn’t get shot to spawn it. Rick’s apartment is actually only about two miles away, but she was so excited by the idea of the baby actually arriving that she didn’t even take the time to shower.

“Do you want me to drop you at the entrance, or is there somewhere better to get to Labor and Delivery?” Rick asks as he turns onto the final street.

“You could come up with me.” It’s said before she can even think about it. Rick knows Carol and Merle, probably better now that he lives in Atlanta, thanks to Sophia and Carl being friends. But arriving together is very likely to have her sisters-in-law making connections Amanda isn’t sure should be made yet.

“If you’re sure.” Rick turns his head away, pretending to check traffic, but she doesn’t miss the soft smile on his features. 

Geez, the man’s personality just clashes with so much of what she expected of him, from Carl’s stories and a few of Lori’s. The thing she thinks she wants to know more of is why when a problem cropped up, both of her brothers dragged Rick right in the middle of it. Each layer she peels back on the man seems to reveal another level of complexity she didn’t expect.

Him coming in means finding parking and then navigating to find the maternity ward, and Amanda wonders if hospitals are set up deliberately to resemble mazes. Waiting for the elevator, Rick looks her way. “I never thought to ask if they’re having a boy or a girl this time.”

“Carol decided she preferred a surprise, since they already have girls and boys both.” Amanda’s not sure even that many kids later she would want a surprise, but Carol’s primary worry was her age and the baby’s health. She can’t really blame her there, since the twins were supposed to be the last of their kids.

Stepping onto the elevator, Rick presses the button for the correct floor. “Makes sense, I guess. Lori wanted to know with Carl. Bought all these tiny baby boy outfits he wore maybe once or twice before he’d sprout right out of them.” He laughs. “Between her and my mother, Carl could have worn a new outfit every day and never done a bit of laundry, I think.”

“At least they would be in good shape for hand-me-downs?” Amanda says, amused at the idea. One thing that’s always puzzled her was that Carl was an only child when Lori obviously wanted more children. She’s never actually asked Lori, especially when Naomi’s conception predated the wedding by at least a month. 

Rick’s phone chimes, and he reaches for it, checking a text message and sighing. “Work. Just needs a text reply, I think.”

Conception. The word registers an instant “oh shit” in Amanda’s mind, because between their lazy weekend and today’s errands she had to run, she forgot to go by the damn pharmacy! Fumbling for her phone, she checks the stupid little app, keeping it tilted away from Rick even though he’s concentrating on his own phone. It’s meant so the monthly inconvenience doesn’t sneak up on her when work is busy, but the features she ignores normally tell her she’s right to be worried. Pushing away the panic to deal with later, she puts the phone away.

Upstairs, finding Amanda’s family is easy, because Naomi makes an escape from the waiting area before they even reach the entrance. “Auntie!”

Scooping her up, she lets the toddler give her a bit of a strangle-hug and wet kiss, laughing. “Just how long have you been here, baby girl?”

“Not too long, actually,” Lori answers for her daughter. “I picked the kids up after school and took them home to eat before we came up here.”

Behind Lori, in the waiting area, she sees Carol and Merle’s twins and Ruby, but no Sophia or Daryl. Or Carl, come to think of it. That was something she hadn’t really considered, asking Rick to come up, but then again, she suspects Carl will just think his clumsy matchmaking from the ballgame finally kicked in.

Naomi wriggles, tipping toward Rick with searching arms. Amanda’s a little surprised when he takes the girl easily. “Hello, Nom Nom.”

That gets him a giggle, and something whispered in his ear. He looks serious as he replies. “Only if your mama says okay.”

The girl cranes her neck to stare expectantly at Lori, who laughs. “She's been wanting to see the nursery, but I said we had to have another adult here first. The other kids are too anxious to go far. If you want to take her, go ahead."

"Alright. Let's go see some babies." Rick sends Amanda a soft smile before turning and heading down the corridor.

As baffled as she is by Naomi's seeming attachment to Rick, Amanda almost misses the knowing look Lori sends her way. "Just how bad of a mother hen is he being?"

That startles Amanda, even as she slips by Lori to hug the other kids. "Uh, not too bad."

Lori just smiles. "Get used to it. It practically took an act of Congress to make him let Shane go home after he got shot, even a week later. He gets twitchy about his partners."

Well, at least Lori seems to be assuming an innocence to them being together that Amanda threw out when she let the woman's ex press her naked to a window. Willing the thought away before she blushes, she feels a bit like she's been caught cheating despite knowing Lori's long over Rick. Best to concentrate on why she's here. "How's Carol doing? Merle was fairly abrupt."

"Sophia popped out a little bit ago to say they're letting her push. Could be half an hour. Could be longer. Carl had something after school he couldn't miss, so Daryl's over there waiting to give him a ride."

"Hopefully they'll make it in time." Amanda checks her watch, remembering the hospital has an outpatient pharmacy. "I need to go pick up a prescription while I'm here. Think I have time?"

"Might as well. It's not like they'll let us all back at once."

"Do you need anything?" It seems polite to offer, even if getting out of here while Rick's distracted seems like the best idea.

Lori shakes her head, so Amanda slips away. The hospital is a big damn building, but she covers ground quickly, just like her foot patrol days. Thankfully, the pharmacy isn't closed yet, and she finds what she needs after actually asking to have the prescription she has on file filled. Her anxiety ramps up at the packaging's firm 72 hour declaration, so she asks at the counter.

The pharmacist smiles kindly at her, which makes her feel guilty. "It'll work up to five days, actually, but it's best in 72 hours. If you're near or past that, maybe you should try the prescription one. It's more effective up to five days than this one."

That sends a surge of relief through her. "So I would just need to call my gynecologist's office?"

"I can call up to see if I can get a doctor to do a prescription. You're in our system, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Amanda thanks her and goes to put the package back, roaming the small space anxiously until her name is called. Discarding the packaging since the pharmacist helpfully told her any side effects, she takes the pill even as she heads back. The small bottle of muscle relaxers, prescribed when she got shot but not filled then, rattles in her pocket as she walks.

She really hopes this is just a paranoid precaution. Taking a chance on whatever this is between her and Rick is one thing. Getting pregnant by accident is quite another. Rick's been cautious enough since that she knows Friday night was an aberration on both their parts.

~*~*~*~

By the time Amanda returns from her errand and Daryl and Carl arrive, Naomi’s sound asleep on Rick’s chest, drooling on his shirt. Rick doesn’t mind, even though most would find it odd that he’s so comfortable with his ex-wife’s child by her new husband. It had taken him a little while to wrap his head around it.

In the end, Naomi is Carl’s sister, and nothing really mattered after the first time he saw Carl cuddling the baby, excited to finally be a big brother. Maybe he could have been one years before he was, if Rick had been less stubborn and less prideful. Amanda keeps eying them with an assessing look, like she really can’t figure it out. Rick just smirks at her.

An hour and a half after Rick and Amanda arrived, Sophia appears in the doorway, looking more excited than Rick has ever seen the girl. Her blonde hair is escaping her pony tail as she bounces in place. “It’s a girl!”

Her siblings swarm her, chattering excitedly. “Can we go back now?” Ruby asks.

“Give it about ten minutes. They’re still doing all the nurse checkups and stuff.” Sophia turns to the adults and Carl. “Seven pounds, fourteen ounces. Clara Lynn.”

“Another girl,” Daryl says, grinning. “Dixons never had so many. It’s a good change.”

“Let’s go wash our hands before we go on the ward,” Sophia suggests to her siblings. “Y’all probably touched everything you could on the way in, didn’t you, boys?”

“We don’t want to go to the girls’ bathroom,” Levi protests, and Carl stands up from where he’s been lounging with his phone, playing a game.

“I’ll take them.”

As the teenagers leads the kids away, Rick finds everyone’s eyes on him and Naomi. “You know she ain’t gonna wake for another hour or so, right, man?” Daryl asks.

“Not the first time she’s decided I’m a good pillow,” Rick replies, smoothing the tiny girl’s hair. The bright blonde fluff must come from Daryl’s side of things, considering all of Merle’s offspring are blondes, too. “I can stay put while y’all go in to cuddle with that new baby.”

Shifting his legs in front of him, Rick makes a show of settling in. Lori just laughs and moves the diaper bag to sit on the little end table next to Rick. “Alright, if you insist.”

“More like she insists.” 

It doesn’t surprise him that Amanda doesn’t leave with Daryl and Lori, instead coming to sit next to him with a quiet comment to Daryl that she’ll go in after everyone else. The assessing look that Daryl gives them tells Rick that he’s not considering him being here in the same innocent light that Lori did. Hell, he doesn’t think Lori would miss it if she wasn’t distracted by the birth while wrangling four children under ten by herself.

He just nods a little when Daryl tilts his head, eyes narrowing. They have a conversation coming later, for certain.

~*~*~*~

Naomi wanting Rick earlier, pegging him as the softie who would carry her off to see the new babies, didn’t surprise Amanda as much as the fact that when she gets back from her pharmacy trip the toddler is still in his arms. The rapport the two have tells her this isn’t the first time by any means that Rick and Naomi have interacted. It makes her intensely curious.

She's seen her niece and Rick together once before, because Naomi was asleep on the couch when she and Daryl came upstairs. But a toddler asleep at that time of night next to someone watching television is entirely different than the girl curled up on Rick's chest. One is courtesy given to any small child visiting your home. This? This is affection. Rick cares for Naomi.

Remembering the warning of the pharmacist that some people prefer eating something with the medication she’d taken, she diverts the curiosity about Rick's relationship with Naomi into fetching a snack from the vending machine. “Any of you kids need a snack?” she asks.

It isn’t a surprise that the twins want something, even though Lori fed them before coming up here. Setting them up with a bag of pretzels, she takes her own Chex Mix to sit across from Rick. Naomi yawns, making Lori sigh and admit the toddler missed her nap in the excitement. Instead of passing her back to her mother, Rick just settles Naomi on his shoulder and coaxes her to sleep with the ease of an experienced parent.

Amanda can’t decide if the damn smirk she gives him whenever no one’s looking makes her want to kiss him or smack his shoulder. The sight of him and Naomi makes her feel a twinge of regret that she never even mentioned the need behind her visit to the pharmacy. That thought leads to a barely repressed shudder. They haven’t even discussed what the hell this is between them. A baby between them would be the height of foolishness.

When Daryl and Carl arrive, neither bats an eye at the situation, so it’s considered normal. What the hell has she missed between her hectic work schedule and not caring to meet Rick back when all he was to her was Lori’s ex-husband? Biding her time and participating in what conversation happens, she just observes and waits and does her damndest to ignore the warmth the sight brews in her heart.

As soon as Rick makes the offer to let everyone go back, she takes the seat beside him and stays. He just gives her one of those smirks again. “For a long time, I’m the one who brought her Cahl to her, back before we all moved to Atlanta. It made me interesting to her.”

“I wonder what she thinks about him going back and forth the way he does.”

“It’s just her normal, I imagine. Probably going to make it easier on her when he goes off to college.”

“Closest I got to that, really, was Merle landing in juvie. I don’t remember him living with us, actually. Just Mama McGinley taking me and Daryl to see him on visitation days til they let him out at eighteen. He enlisted then. Daryl missed him something fierce, though, but he was older.”

“So Daryl never moved out while you were still at home to miss him?” Rick asks, looking curious.

“Nah. He’s five years older, but our adoptive mama, she never had a lot of extra money. Soon as he was old enough to get a job, he got one. Then he made sure all his extra money went to us. Lived with us until she got cancer, and it was so bad she had to go to a nursing home.”

“Jesus. How old were you then?” Rick has that wide eyed look that usually precedes a look of pity, but he restrains himself. It reminds Amanda that she’s telling a story pretty similar to Shane’s, so he’s probably had practice.

“Seventeen.” She shrugs, watching as Naomi shifts and mumbles in her sleep. Rick’s arm automatically tightens around her, his free hand coming up to smooth her hair. “Me and Daryl, we did a good job of looking out for each other.” 

Considering all he could afford was a tiny trailer outside of the city, they got by. She had good grades, enough so that her college tuition was actually paid for. Daryl worked two jobs, refusing to let her work any. She repaid him by finishing four years of college in three. It’s a work ethic that paid off as a cop.

“Still are doing that, aren’t you? Just with Merle added in for extra flair.”

“Flair, drama, and entertainment.” Amanda just grins, because Merle’s turnaround on his life starting eleven years ago is one of the happiest points of hers and Daryl’s lives. “I swear, if he’d met Carol sooner, they’d have their own baseball team.”

“I have to admire the man. A newborn and him in his forties? That’s got to be exhausting.” Rick sounds a little amazed and maybe a little intimidated. “I mean, Carl’s going to be eighteen in a month. Being around a newborn full time again would be one hell of an adjustment.”

Amanda swallows hard, thinking of her earlier stirring of regret for taking the emergency contraception. The facts are all but spelled out for her. Other than Friday night, when he was obviously distraught over her shooting, Rick’s been careful to avoid any potential accidents. He’s a decade older than her, with his only son almost an adult. Why would he want to start over now?

All this softness he’s displaying around Naomi is like that of a favored uncle. He gets to spoil her, enjoy all the sweet nature of a cuddly toddler, and then send her home with her parents.

“I guess it would,” she says slowly. “I’ve actually never even watched any of the kids overnight, other than Sophia once, and she was about nine then. Wasn’t even supposed to be overnight, but they had car trouble and didn’t make it back to town in time.”

That had been the trip where Carol got to salvage some of hers and Sophia’s possessions left behind with Ed, when the asshole finally got his just desserts and went to prison. The next door neighbor had been more than glad to alert her sister-in-law when Ed pled guilty rather than face a trial that would have sentenced him to a much longer time behind bars. Smacking a wife around didn’t seem to merit much, but smacking around a cop’s daughter who took offense at having her ass grabbed in a bar? That one he was probably lucky to make it to jail in one piece.

Rick arches a brow, looking a little astounded. “Not once? I mean, I understand maybe not at this age,” he tips his head toward Naomi, “but Ruby’s eight, right? And I would have thought Sophia would have bugged you to stay overnight. She’s stayed over at my place, when she and Carl were younger.”

Something about his surprise makes her stomach clench. Although he doesn’t seem judgmental, it circles back to the constant assessment of her as being something less than feminine because of her time devoted to her job. It’s not that she is deliberately avoiding watching the kids, but it just became how things work in the family.

Amanda visits, spends time playing with the kids, and then goes back to her own life. She nearly laughs at the fact she was just being disappointed and exasperated about Rick being on the finished side of parenthood, when she’s never even changed a diaper. 

The delay in answering makes Rick frown. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. I remember what it was like, those first years on the job.”

Waving it off, she manages a smile somehow, despite the combined weirdness brewing in her brain between all the conflicting thoughts about babies and family obligations. “Maybe it’s something I can do differently, now that I’m not just a patrol cop.”

“It does help quite a bit,” he reassures her. He seems about to say more, but Daryl’s back in the waiting room, motioning for Amanda.

Deciding that going to see the baby will give her a little breathing room until she can settle whatever this is in her head, she nods and stands. She passes her brother, who gives her a crooked half smile, but then he takes a seat next to Rick.

Crap. That’s probably going to be the kind of conversation she should have thought about occurring when she asked Rick to come up with her. Rick’s a big boy, though, and he probably considered it before he came. He can survive whatever shovel talk Daryl aims his way.

~*~*~*~

Rick feels a little grateful he’s got an armful of Daryl’s toddler daughter, but the man actually looks concerned, not upset. The younger man shifts in his seat as if he’s the one about to get a cautionary speech. “Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?”

It makes Daryl chuckle, the sound low and gravelly. “If you were some new man I didn’t have a clue about, maybe. But I know you, man.”

“I suppose you do, by now.” They’re friends, maybe not on the scale they would be if they’d met when Daryl wasn’t dating Rick’s ex-wife, but they got past that discomfort, at least. “So what’s got you antsy?”

“You’ve been playing the field a good long while,” Daryl ventures. “Might even made yourself more of a skirtchaser than Merle was, back in the day.”

It’s not a personality trait the Dixon brothers share, Rick knows. He looked into Daryl, probably more than was precisely legal, when he seemed like he was sticking around. Lori might have divorced him, but it didn’t mean he would let her stumble across a man who wasn’t going to treat her right. 

“Haven’t been doing that for a while,” Rick admits. He knows Carl doesn’t believe it, and he doesn’t quite expect Daryl to, but the man nods.

“You ain’t wired for that, not really.” Daryl glances at Naomi as she snores softly. “And you’re real careful that she doesn’t see it, but you’re so far gone on my sister there’s no way back, ain’t you?”

Rick clears his throat, flinching when Naomi startles a little. She settles, and he sighs in relief. “Might be. She’s not ready for me to tell her that.”

“No, she’s not. Last guy that she dated? He seemed nice enough, but he ducked out on her the second things got real about her being a cop. Should have tracked his pansy ass down and smacked him around for it, but honestly, he wasn’t going to last the long haul anyway. Best he ran before they were married with kids.”

“You know I’ve got no problem with her being a cop, right?” Rick remembers the cold terror of hearing Shane say she’d been shot, but nothing about it made him want to run away from her. Hell, he’s barely let her out of his sight since then.

“I know, else we’d be having an entirely different conversation.” Rick suspects that conversation would probably involve Daryl not giving a shit about him being a cop and involve more fists than words. “Just go easy, Rick. Mandy’s the most skittish thing on the planet since Luke cut and run. Always finding an excuse to avoid anything that might turn serious.”

“She’s already run once,” he admits, and Daryl nods. “I’m a patient man. I can wait it out, I promise.”

“I figured you might. I just worry, especially with all this dirty cop shit going on.”

“You and me both.” Gorman hasn’t seemed to care about Rick seeming to have two girlfriends, and Amanda even says he’s backed off and seemed actually friendly. They still aren’t sure where he’s leading with that.

Naomi grumbles and wakes, thwacking Rick in the nose accidentally when she flails herself awake. Bright blue eyes turn anxious when she sees Rick, until he tilts her head toward Daryl. “Your daddy’s right there, sweetheart.”

Daryl takes his daughter when she stretches toward him, letting her cuddle close. “You gonna go see the baby, too? No limit on visitors now that they’re in the regular maternity room.”

“Might as well. Carol might ban me from buying from her bakery if I don’t come tell her how gorgeous her new daughter is, you know.”

“Might ban you? Shoot. That woman will figure out how to get you banned from every bakery in town. You’d be the only cop who can’t find a donut anywhere in Atlanta.”

Laughing, Rick follows him through the security doors into the ward. Something’s up with Amanda, he knows, from her odd behavior. But there’s time enough to sort it out later. Tonight’s for being happy that after years of no real extended family in Georgia, Carl’s got yet another cousin. 

New babies are always worth celebrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the flies begin to creep into the ointment a bit for the new lovebirds...


	19. Sort the Rest Out Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The upcoming charity ball provides a place to investigate the escort service further, so Beth and Amanda go shopping to prepare.

It’s hard to not think about her confusion about children and Rick when Amanda returns to his place with him Monday evening. Curiosity about Daryl’s conversation with Rick adds an extra layer of anxiety to it. They’re alone in the apartment, since Beth’s working, and the hospital detour means they snagged pizzas from a shop around the corner.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you eat anything I would call junk food outside of the ballpark,” she muses, watching as Rick reaches for his third slice of pizza.

Even now, she’s not sure it’s junk food in the way the pizza she’s used to might be. Olive oil and garlic in place of sauce, with three types of mushrooms, caramelized onions, mozzarella, and some other cheese that isn’t usual for pizza to her. The thing even has grated truffle. She’s a little jealous that she just asked for Hawaiian pizza, to be honest.

“Try it and you’ll understand,” he teases, pushing the box toward her. 

They’re eating straight from the boxes on the kitchen island, sharing a bottle of wine to go with their pizza. She hadn’t thought the Sauvignon Blanc wine would pair with something like pizza when Rick brought it out of the wine fridge Amanda’s all but ignored during her time in the apartment, but it suits, somehow, and not just because the pizza isn’t from some chain restaurant. Taking a drink before reaching for the offered slice, she bites into it tentatively, and groans. “Oh God.”

Rick laughs, making him look a good ten years younger than his already deceptively youthful appearance. “Yeah. That was how I felt the first time I tried it.”

Amanda grins, letting her anxiety bleed away. It’s something to worry about later. Tonight she wants to try to enjoy the mental high of the new baby arriving safely, and the fact that after a long talk with Daryl, Rick’s still looking like her company is the best he can imagine. She pushes her box toward him in exchange, eying him with mock wariness.

“Ah. A test to see if I’ll pitch a fit about fruit not belonging on a pizza?” he teases, scooping up a slice and taking a bite without hesitation. 

“It is one of those tests you have to pass,” she replies, trying to keep a straight face. He isn’t just humoring her, because he keeps eating with the same contentment as he finished off the three slices of his own pizza.

“I like pineapple in most things,” he says, reaching out to top off their wine with the glass or so left in the bottle. It’s such an easy camaraderie, belying how short a time she’s actually known the man.

His phone chimes, and after picking it up, he slides it across to show her the message from Shane mentioning the First Responder’s Benefit Ball on Saturday as a good place to lay out some groundwork to see if Dawn Lerner is involved with Gorman’s little schemes. She’s still the best suspect for the unknown person in charge of the escort service. Amanda makes a face at the message.

“Yeah, she goes every year. Says it’s our duty to mingle with the public and let them see who the funds raised benefit. All the sergeants on her watch not on duty have to go. I went last year at her insistence, actually.”

“I would love to see you all dressed up for that,” Rick says, and there’s a light in his eyes that makes her wish the same for a long moment. “Dance with you before I get sent around to sweet talk donors.”

Shaking her head, she smiles wistfully. “Not a good idea, with the story we’re playing out. Dawn might not care, but if you want to keep up our story with Gorman, I can’t go as your date. You should take Beth.”

“Beth would probably enjoy it.” Rick picks up his phone and starts to tap out a reply to Shane, before pausing. “It won’t bother you, will it?”

It’s a sweet reaction, to worry about her if he’s attending a public event with another woman, even one that she knows he’s only friends with. She shakes her head. “As long as you don’t insist I take a date myself. Seeing me with another man after you might break Gorman’s tiny little brain.”

Rick laughs, finishing text reply and jotting off another to Beth while she’s at work. “Will you at least let me treat you to your dress? Make him short circuit a bit.”

“How do you know I haven’t bought one yet?” she asks. He’s right, because she’s been putting it off, and even considered wriggling out of attending due to her still healing ribs. Dawn would probably understand that excuse. But the chance to scope out things when people’s guards are down due to good liquor and country club settings seems like too good a chance to pass up.

“Just intuition, I guess.” He smiles, leaning in for a kiss. “Maybe take Beth with you? She could probably use some advice on what sort of things the ladies preen around in.”

Amanda actually thinks when it comes to fashion, the advice would be coming the other way around, but it’s not a bad suggestion. Shopping for a dress she’s going to wear once and stick in the back of her closet would be a lot more interesting with company. “I can buy my own dress, you know.”

Frugally as she lives, it actually means that she doesn’t have to stick to bargain shopping, especially with the raise she received with her promotion to sergeant. If she were attending solely because of the investigation, using his money wouldn’t be that bad. But since it’s part of her career now, to be part of the department’s public image, the idea of it makes her uneasy.

“I know you can. But think about it, at least? I’ll fund Beth’s shopping, since there’s no way I would ask her to try when she’s saving for graduate school.”

“I’d kick your ass if you did,” she tells him and means it. He just laughs and tugs her into his arms. After some long, teasing kisses, they tidy up the kitchen and drift to the bedroom where Amanda enjoys the benefits of the fact that wine seems to make Rick as amorous as painkillers appeared to have made her.

The relaxed mood carries her all the way through the day on Tuesday, where she’s cleared for the shooting on Friday. It seems like a lifetime away, and the administrative part moved so much faster than she expected. Getting the whole thing caught on multiple body cams, security cameras, and numerous willing witnesses makes things smoother, making her grateful that technology backed them up this time so thoroughly. Only the autopsy is still pending, where eventually they will learn exactly which of the three of them killed the man.

While that feels like a dark cloud for her day, she tucks it away to worry about later, getting her shift done and over with. It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, and Beth’s free today, so she calls a Lyft driver to deliver her to the massive mall the younger woman thinks is their best bet for finding dresses without driving over half of Atlanta. Suppressing a grimace at the monstrosity of a shopping complex, Amanda spies Beth waving and goes to meet the enthusiastic blonde.

“I’ve got a friend from college who works in one of the department stores here. She’ll help us find what we need, and Rick likes the idea of her getting the commission.” Beth flashes a grin her way. “They pay the sales associates pretty crappy here, by the way. Keep that in mind.”

As Amanda follows Beth into the massive, three story department store, she figures Beth’s right on that. After what Rick did for Joan, she can certainly see him taking delight in supporting another college student, even indirectly through a commission sale. The young blonde finds the women’s department unerringly, sidestepping one salesperson to find her friend.

“Amanda, this is Haley. She’s in the archery club at Tech. Gonna go to the Olympics next time.”

The brunette just smiles at Beth’s enthusiasm. “With luck and a lot of practice, yeah. Beth says you’re both needing evening wear?”

Nodding to that question kicks off one hell of a shopping trip. Beth’s enjoying herself, trying on things that she admits aren’t what she wants, just for fun. Amanda doesn’t complain, because it gives her time to study what Haley brings to her attention.

“You want to stay conservative, don’t you?” Haley asks, while Beth’s trading a red chiffon fluff of a dress that screams more bridesmaid than charity ball for something a little more elegant at Haley’s urging.

Amanda’s in a sleek green gown that hugs her curves in a way that makes her thrilled and apprehensive both. It’s too much for a work function, but she can’t stop looking at her reflection. To be honest, it’s the backless aspect that really halts her love of the dress. There’s nothing other than some very thin straps crossing her upper back between her neck and the upper curve of her backside.

“It’s beautiful,” Beth breathes out from behind her. “Oh my God, Amanda, you look like you should be on the red carpet.

When she turns, she can’t say the same for Beth. The cream colored gown the blonde is wearing takes her from bridesmaid to bride, and Amanda nearly curses Haley for the accidental impression. Even with her hair in a tousled, messy bun atop her head, Beth looks made for this life, an afternoon spent among dresses that cost more than the saleswoman with them makes in a week.

Haley’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “That is not the dress for this event, Beth. I’ll go find something else. Maybe something in red.”

As soon as Haley disappears, Amanda turns back to the mirror, urging away the mental image of Beth in bridal wear. Rick has no interest in the younger woman, and Amanda believes him on that. All his behavior in private with Beth is about as platonic as they come. Hell, if it wouldn’t feel completely creepy considering she’s seen them kiss at Merle’s bar for Gorman’s benefit, she’d even call their vibe that of siblings.

It doesn’t stop the unease she feels looking at just how beautiful Beth is.

Although in this dress, she feels a bit like the ugly duckling, because Beth is right. It does make her feel beautiful. When Beth bustles up, lifting Amanda’s hair from the utilitarian ponytail she put it in after changing from uniform to street clothes, she studies her reflection.

“See, put your hair in a French twist, and some understated makeup…” Beth hums thoughtfully. “Nothing bold. Maybe a bit smokey, just enough color to make your eyes glow. This dress is so perfect.”

With the image Beth paints, Amanda’s almost tempted, but the dress is too expensive and too revealing. She shakes her head, and Beth sighs, accepting the decision. Haley returns, with a new selection over her arm.

“Have you thought about a jumpsuit?” she asks Amanda, offering a black garment. “Don’t let the name fool you. It’s not like a kid’s outfit.”

Figuring it can’t hurt, Amanda takes the garment and disappears to shed the green satin that makes her imagine far too much about what it would look like on Rick’s bedroom floor more than wearing it in public. It turns out that Haley’s right, because something about the elegant black jumpsuit makes Amanda feel as confident as she does in uniform. Even the fact that it bares her shoulders and arms doesn’t take away from the impact of her image in the dressing room mirror. 

Venturing out, she stands in front of the larger trifold mirror and twists first one way, then the other. Haley nods behind her, and the look of admiration isn’t just a saleswoman wanting to make a good commission. “Pair that with a good pair of shoes,” the young woman suggests, “and you’ll turn heads without being stared at.”

Looking down at her plain black socks, Amanda laughs. “Are you saying my work boots won’t work?”

Haley’s still laughing when Beth twirls out of her own dressing room, giggling. “This is too Disney princess, but man, I almost want to buy it just to spin around in at home.”

The skirt of the aquamarine dress whirls around Beth, making Amanda think of something a salsa dancer would wear on some television dance routine. “I feel like you’re about to audition for a Dirty Dancing remake.”

Beth smirks at her. “But would I be Baby or Penny?”

“I have an idea,” Haley says, studying Beth. “But it’s really expensive. I don’t want to take advantage.”

“How expensive?” Beth asks, looking curious. “Because I’ve seen the label on Rick’s suit.”

“What is it?” Amanda can’t resist the question, even standing here in an outfit she knows will cost her around four hundred dollars. Teenage Amanda would die at the price tag.

“Tom Ford,” Beth replies, and Haley smiles slightly in response.

“Well, this is a bit more expensive than that, but not too much. Dresses always are.”

While Haley disappears to retrieve whatever dress has inspired her for Beth, the blonde turns her attention on Amanda. “That’s gorgeous. Please say you’re buying it, if you’re not getting the green dress.”

“Yeah, I think I am.” Amanda smoothes the fabric over her hip with one hand, lifting her own hair up like Beth did earlier. “I have no idea how to do a French twist in my hair, you know.”

Beth just grins impishly. “No worries. After you get off work on Saturday, we’re going to have appointments to get our hair and nails done. Manis, pedis, everything.” There’s a sly, sideways look. “I’d suggest a Brazillian, but those are a bad idea for a night like this.”

“Why do you say that?” Amanda asks, frowning. She knows what a Brazillian is, but the idea of letting someone handle that level of her personal care is definitely not something she’s cared to try.

“Because you always do that kind of thing at least two days before you want to show off your skin. It irritates everything.” Beth eyes the jumpsuit with a grin. “And Rick is going to strip that off you as soon as we end our little charade.”

The idea of shedding this little outfit while Rick watches appeals in a way it shouldn’t. “I’ll pass on the waxing, either way.” She isn’t changing that much of herself to tempt a man.

“Alright.” Beth accepts the refusal with her usual aplomb. “Did Haley suggest any shoes?”

The quiet “oh goodie, more shopping” Amanda utters makes Beth giggle, but it cuts off when Haley returns with one of the most beautiful dresses Amanda’s ever seen. The normally irrepressible blonde takes it almost reverently. 

“Is this Elie Saab?” Beth asks, and Amanda has no idea why she’s so impressed, other than even she can tell this dress is designer in a way that makes even the price tag on Amanda’s jumpsuit seem small.

Haley nods, looking a little shy at offering. “You said price wasn’t an issue, but I didn’t want to take advantage. Your date is wearing Tom Ford, though, so…”

“Oh, I’m trying it on even if I panic about the price,” Beth declares, bustling off with the dress in her arms. “This is like a once in a lifetime thing for a college girl.”

Once Beth disappears, Amanda turns to Haley. “Fill me in. Beth’s not batted an eye at dresses costing five hundred to a thousand dollars. What kind of price tag does that dress have?”

Haley shifts from one foot to another. “Almost five thousand dollars.”

“Jesus. You could buy a good used car for that.” It’s one of those baffling moments where once again, she remembers that Rick comes from such a drastically different world than she does that it’s almost painfully different. “So his suit costs something like that?”

“Yeah. Depending on which design, it probably cost at least three thousand.” Haley glances to where Beth hasn’t yet emerged from the dressing room. “Is she serious that price isn’t an issue?”

Thinking of the commission a five thousand dollar dress merits and what it would mean to a broke college student, Amanda nods. “Her date won’t even bat an eye, I promise.”

When Beth steps out of the little dressing room booth, Amanda’s breath catches. All the other dresses had looked good on Beth, even if none was a good fit for the charity event. But this one? It leaves the younger woman looking like a princess, and not something out of a Disney movie. This is more Grace Kelly, after she became Princess Grace.

“Oh, Beth. You look so amazing,” Haley breathes out. Amanda just nods, stepping away from the big mirror to let Beth take a good look at herself.

“Wow.” Beth drops all the playfulness when she studies her reflection this time, turning slowly with wide eyes. “This dress is so perfect.”

The pale blue halter dress is made of tulle, with complex embroidery across the fabric and a silk chiffon belt at the waist. The skirt is slit to mid-thigh, allowing a tasteful glimpse of smooth, tanned skin when Beth moves. It’s like it was designed just for Beth’s lithe, slim figure. She looks timeless, her youth stripped away behind the lines of a dress meant to show her at her best.

“Add some metallic heels and bright silver jewelry,” Haley suggests, starting to smile as Beth falls in love with the dress. “You’ll have every eye in the place on you, Beth.”

Amanda agrees, and while she can’t begin to imagine spending that kind of money, especially not even her own money, she knows this is perfect. “You have to buy it.”

Once Beth nods, Haley tells them not to change just yet, asking their shoe sizes, before disappearing and returning again, this time with a selection of shoes. Even Amanda knows the name of the designer on the ones she’s offered, because she’d have to live in a hole in the ground to not have heard of Christian Louboutin. When she tries on a pair of the shoes, just out of curiosity, she is torn between thinking torture devices and loving the idea of something so typically feminine paired with the jumpsuit’s elegance.

“Do you ever wear stilettos?” Beth asks, innocently studying her own feet. The shoes aren’t a match for Haley’s suggestion and likely the wrong size, but Amanda smiles. It takes away from the overwhelming impression the dress gives Beth, making her seem more her age.

“Not really.” Amanda knows she can handle them, because the few times she’s given in to the impulse, balance has never been a problem. The joys of martial arts training keeps her balance as she tries out the shoes. The pair on her feet are a classic black, open sided and add height to her that she probably wouldn’t want if she were Rick’s date. They’re too close in height already.

But going on her own? Adding height and elegance when facing down assholes like Gorman flocking around to build their own careers? Hell, yes, she wants the stilettos. The fact that the shoes cost more than her jumpsuit is something she’ll just ignore for now.

Haley smiles when Amanda passes them to her with a solid yes on those being the pair she wants. Beth has one of the pairs brought for her on now, back in front of the mirror and adjusting her skirt to flash a glittering pair of silver sandal style stilettos that make Amanda think it’s what Cinderella would wear if she were part of their current century. The slender ankle strap makes it even more perfect, outlining Beth’s tiny, delicate ankles.

If she dances in those, with that dress, alongside Rick’s own casual elegance? Amanda could probably steal all the valuables in the room and never be noticed. 

The shoes decided, they visit the jewelry department. After the price on the dresses and shoes, where Amanda reluctantly lets Beth pay for everything, it’s refreshing to see Beth playing around with sparkling zirconia, finding good pieces for them with the ease of someone who adores playing dress up in a way that always baffles Amanda. Two small clutches complete their purchases, sparkly silver for Beth and a subdued bronze leather for Amanda.

A day with Beth is teaching her that maybe spending all her time trailing behind Daryl like his best shadow might have had her missing some interesting steps as a female. She chuckles a little to herself when they load their shopping into the back seat of the car Beth summoned. “I think I need a long nap,” she tells Beth.

Beth looks a little guilty. "You worked all day."

"Mostly behind a desk, which is unusual for my job. It's fine. I'll just turn in early tonight."

Still, she does doze on the ride back to Rick's, content to sit next to Beth. Staying another night at Rick's seems much better than going home to her too quiet apartment. Another night curled up against him seems like the best balm for her still recovering body. There's time to sort the rest out later.

~*~*~*~

It's an interesting experience, seeing Amanda so relaxed after her shopping trip with Beth. Rick approves of the blonde's selections when she puts on a quick little fashion show. Amanda is secretive about her outfit, hanging the covered garment in the entryway closet.

He lets her keep the surprise, if she feels she needs it. Saturday will be soon enough to see just what has Beth giggling and winking at Amanda even as they all three share a spicy fennel shrimp over steamed rice. As soon as supper clean up is complete, Beth announces she's going for a swim.

Amanda looks so wistful about the idea after Beth heads down to the pool that Rick feels bad for her. "There's an infinity pool that folks just lounge in, but I'm guessing you miss actually swimming from that expression."

"Just being in the water doesn't compare to lap swimming. It's going to take me months to get back in proper shape when my ribs finish healing."

"Have you met with a physical therapist yet? I remember Shane had some modified exercises he did." Rick's seen Amanda doing deep breathing exercises and tentative stretches, but she's more of an athlete than he is. Like Shane, she'll miss her routine in a way he wouldn't.

"I have an appointment after work tomorrow to figure something out."

Rick draws his fingers along where her shirt hides the terrible bruising. "If you don't want to use the rehab place's gym, you've got full access here, you know. Fitness center, resident's spa, whatever." Since security gives him two levels of access, he has different options, like Daryl, Lori, and Shane's access cards that give them guest privileges. But Beth and Amanda's are the same as Rick and Carl's: residents. No sense spooking Amanda by clarifying that.

"I'll keep it in mind," she tells him. It's not an instant refusal and announcement she'll stick to the rehab facilities or whatever gym membership she has, so he counts it as a wind. He isn't foolishness enough to think she won't head home before too long, but he can still spoil her while she's here.

Amanda yawns, and her grumpy expression at the sleepy reaction makes him laugh. "Early bedtime it is," he teases.

"You don't have to go to bed this early."

"No, I don't have to, but I want to." Rick kisses her, keeping the intensity down since she's obviously exhausted. "C'mon, off to bed."

Last night, they explored each other in a leisurely lead in for sex. Tonight? Just getting through a shower is the limit of Amanda's energy reserves. Although she's got some of her things from home, she still sleeps in one of his t-shirts. It makes him smile even as he slides a hand under the edge of the soft cloth to rest against her bare stomach while she's sleeping.

Pressing a kiss against her temple, he curls against her as she's propped on the pillows and just enjoys having her close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inkribbon played personal shopper for the ladies so they ended up with nice things. 😉
> 
> As fashion isn't a common TWD theme, for those curious enough to want to see:
> 
> Amanda's jumpsuit is the same as Dolores in Westworld wore in season 3, with Christian Louboutin's Ibiza shoes. Beth's gown is from Elie Saab's Spring/Summer 2021 ready to collection, Look 69, with Valentino Garavani's rockstud metallic ankle strap sandals.
> 
> Next chapter: Amanda finally panics about how comfortable she's getting around Rick, and the charity ball itself adds new complications.


	20. What Are You Doing, Amanda?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda continues to wrestle doubts about her relationship with Rick, while attending the charity benefit clarifies something for their investigation.

Physical therapy is a special sort of hell, Amanda thinks, letting her eyes slide closed and grimacing at the ache in her ribs as she settles into a seat on the bus. She could have called a cab or an Uber, but since she hadn’t planned ahead and the bus was pulling up to the stop when she emerged from the rehab center, she figured what the hell. Rick had been right that there was a host of exercise intended for injuries such as hers, but she isn’t entirely sure that physical therapists don’t go into the profession due to latent sadist tendencies.

“You okay?” a kindly voice asks.

When she opens her eyes, there’s an elderly woman next to her, smiling warmly. The oddity is that the woman’s silver hair is damp, but then Amanda remembers there’s an indoor warm water pool at the rehab center. It was on the list of activities for her to try, joining one of the aqua aerobics classes.

“Yeah. Physical therapy appointment took a lot out of me.” Amanda is actually wondering if she should have taken advantage of the possibility to take more time off work. The original physician treating her had mentioned signing off on a week minimum. Working all day today, followed by a half hour of physical therapy is definitely not fun.

But they’re so short handed at the station that taking extra time off work isn’t really feasible, not as long as she’s capable of mobility, so here she is. Rick’s big bathtub sounds like heaven for now, or maybe the pool. She can’t swim, but floating in the water would probably help all of her aches and pains.

“I can imagine. I’m almost done with mine.” The woman taps her chest with an arthritis curled hand. “Bypass surgery.”

“There’s physical therapy after that?” Amanda asks, curious.

“Once they saw through your breastbone, of course. Gotta retrain all the muscles to work together again.” 

Suddenly cracked ribs don’t seem quite as painful, not really. “Ouch.”

“It’s definitely a reason to live a healthy life if your family is prone to heart disease like mine. It wasn’t my first heart surgery. At least I stopped smoking this time.”

The chatter moves to less intense subjects, but that initial discussion sticks with Amanda, remembering the discussion with Rick about his eating habits. She gets off the bus at his building, propping herself up in the back corner of the elevator. It’s five in the evening, and residents who end their work days at four-thirty are trickling home, so she has company. Rick texted while she was waiting on the elevator that he’s held over by a case late in the day, but he’ll be bringing supper if she doesn’t mind eating late.

Apparently, it’s also her day for random strangers chatting to her, and her law enforcement training means she responds politely when she really just wants a bath and a nap.

“Penthouse. Wow.” The young man wears the sort of inexpensive suit common to entry-level workers. He’s staring at the elevator panel, which is lit up for the twenty-ninth floor as well as Rick’s.

“Visiting a friend,” Amanda says, shrugging.

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s not a visitor’s access card you used.”

“What do you mean?” She knows her card looks like the ones she’s seen Carl, Rick, and Beth use, a photo ID with a burgundy border like the plush decor in the lobby.

“Red borders are residents. If you get one for a visitor, it has a green border. Helps security narrow down who can go where on their own. Red ones also charge for certain services back to the apartment, like getting a manicure in the salon or taking your dog to the groomer in the building.”

“Huh. Well, I’m still a visitor. My friend is just stupidly generous, I think.” Like encouraging Beth and Amanda to spend an insane amount of money for clothing and shoes, or this, letting her have free roam of one of the most expensive high rises in Atlanta.

“Sounds like a friend to keep around,” he quips, bidding her a polite farewell when the elevator opens on his floor. 

Amanda rides up to the penthouse in thoughtful silence.

~*~*~*~

Somehow, Rick isn’t surprised one bit that Amanda’s gone when he gets home close to seven. The fact that she stayed beyond the weekend is impressive by itself. But there is a surprise, and it’s that there’s a page ripped off the notepad in the kitchen propped on his bedside table.

Rubbing the paper between his finger and thumb, he smiles to himself. “Yeah, I’m sure this was all about one of the patrolmen offering you a ride to and from work, Amanda,” he says softly, even as silly as it is to talk to himself. “But we’ll go with that for now.”

Sliding the note in behind his bookmark in his current book, he leaves it on the bedside table and goes to put the food in the fridge. If Amanda’s gone home and Beth’s working, the apartment is just too quiet with Carl at Lori’s. Figuring it won’t hurt to head down to the bar and put in an appearance, he heads back downstairs.

She’s still running, but like he told Daryl, he can be patient.

~*~*~*~

It’s not that Amanda’s never had manicures before, but they were something done out of curiosity to see why everyone was so fascinated with the process. When she meets Beth at the upscale salon not that far from her apartment building, the younger woman is as cheerful as always about pampering them both. Something tells her this is going to be different than the small discount nail salons she’s been to before.

Being a cop means fancy nails are out of the picture, because she doesn’t want to just have to ruin all the work come Tuesday morning. At least that’s her plan, until Beth happens.

“C’mon, Amanda. It’s a party, and your outfit and shoes are black. Add just a little color with your nails and feel pretty for the weekend. You’re off the next two days, right?”

Sighing, Amanda nods and decides to just roll with the idea for now. “What do you have in mind? It has to be something I can take off at home. I don’t want to come back just to be ready for work on Tuesday.”

She ends up with garnet nails with just a hint of metallic dust that makes them catch the eye without having the bright contrast of a crimson or ruby red. It’s prettier than she expected it to be, although she does draw the line at the pedicure. Beth just chatters to her where she waits for the blonde’s toenails to end up a perfect match to her sapphire blue fingernails. The best part for Beth is that her uniform shirt at work won’t really clash with the nails, so she’ll get to enjoy them longer than Amanda will hers.

They’re ushered along to the stylists next, hair before makeup. The trim that Amanda’s been putting off starts off the session and ends with her hair in the most elegant updo she’s ever had her hair arranged in. The addition of a small, sleek bronze and garnet chignon pin makes her realize why Beth suggested her nail color, especially once she passes Amanda a little pouch of accessories. 

The bronzed garnet eyeshadow the stylist applies is a color no one has ever recommended to Amanda. The man just smirks slyly at her. “You’ve got green eyes, and everyone always says go with green or blue eyeshadow, right?”

“Usually.” Tomboy or not, Amanda did experiment with makeup as a teenager and young adult. Any comment about her eyes almost always was followed by exactly what he said.

“Stay with the deep, wine colored reds, and you’ll do just fine.” As he holds the mirror up, Amanda has to agree. It pales in comparison to the muted earth tones she uses for work, because wearing no makeup at all seems to cause as much conflict as wearing anything especially feminine.

Beth’s hair is going to emphasize the princess look. Her blond hair is braided with glittery, metallic blue ribbons, swept into a crown on top of her head. Her eyeshadow is a deep blue, making her eyes stand out even more than they usually do. She grins impishly at Amanda as they finally leave the salon.

“You are going to shock the hell out of people tonight, Amanda,” she teases as they settle into the Uber summoned car. The driver pulls out into traffic. “So very elegant and kickass, like that hair pin ought to double as an assassin’s blade.”

Even the driver giggles at Beth’s imagery, and the combination of her mirth and Beth’s makes Amanda laugh, too. “I suspect that by the end of the night, I may wish it was a blade to make all the boring stop.”

“Stabbing your coworkers at a charity ball probably won’t raise lots of money, you know.”

“Depends on how bad Gorman’s irritated people. We might be able to raise money just for that.”

“Maybe I could suggest it.” 

Beth’s grin is as contagious as her laughter, so Amanda’s smiling when she heads upstairs to her apartment. It almost overrides her sore ribs as she climbs. Tonight is going to be a pain in the ass, making nice with people she doesn’t really know, but at least she can imagine Gorman dying by hair pin behind a potted plant to entertain herself.

~*~*~*~

Rick is used to the sort of gathering he’s attending tonight, although the scale is larger than any fundraiser King County ever put on. His parents took him to plenty like this for reasons other than first responders or law enforcement, though, so mingling with donors and supporters is old hat to him. It’s not really surprising that Beth takes to the process like a duck to water. Her generally bubbly personality combined with generally liking people makes her sparkle among the more jaded personalities.

Once he’s sure she’s in her element, he leaves her charming a couple he knows could meet the charitable goal single handedly and goes to fetch them both drinks. Champagne abounds around the room on waiter delivered trays, but he’s never liked the bubbly stuff and Beth prefers to abstain. While the bartender is filling his order, Rick turns to survey the room.

“She’s like a butterfly among moths,” Gorman drawls, coming to a stop at the bar next to Rick. Despite the lingering heat, the French doors on either side of the long bar are open, allowing a breeze to filter into the room, bringing in the scent of whatever is blooming in the area outside. “I can see why you said she was the type to marry.”

“This does seem to be her domain,” Rick agrees readily. “I bet that man will have his checkbook out funding more than one charity before she’s done. She was just mentioning how underfunded a local animal rescue group was on the way over.”

Sometimes Rick thinks Beth might be a little wasted in an engineering career, with her gifts of persuasion, but at the same time, there are so many different ways to change the world. Beth’s goals are on a much larger scale than this room. He can picture her managing research funding much the same way as she’s skillfully spinning tales of need for the hardworking first responders of the Atlanta area.

“Bet your jaw dropped seeing her all put together in that little ensemble. Must’ve given your credit card quite the workout.”

While Beth is beautiful in her own right, Rick’s appreciation of her looks is similar to how he appreciates the looks of any pretty woman. Gorman’s looking at him so expectantly that he ends up smiling wryly. But it isn’t Beth he’s thinking of when he replies. 

It’s Amanda, with that black jumpsuit outlining the curves he knows intimately, and her creamy skin exposed along her arms and shoulders. The impression would be almost monochrome except for the splashes of deep, wine-hued red at the tips of each finger, across her eyelids, and around her neck in the form of some a tasteful garnet necklace whose pendant rests right at the apex of her cleavage. That little teardrop gemstone makes his fingers itch to explore below it, where the jumpsuit seems to just barely cling to her breasts. 

Even her shoes have a flash of red, although it is not the subdued hue of garnet. As she movee around the room earlier, her change in height made him notice the stilettos with their heels that would easily even out their height difference. Women's fashion may be mostly mystery to him, but he knows those red soles. The idea of Amanda spoiling herself like that intrigues him, even more than just the spike of interest that her in heels engenders.

Beth sparkles, with all the intentional pizzazz of a woman dressed to draw attention to her. Amanda? She smoulders, with the carefully banked fire hidden, escaping only in those glimmers of red among the black and white. 

“A woman that beautiful makes a man wonder why he needs to go out in public at all,” Rick muses, not really seeing Beth at all, even as she laughs at the overjeweled brunette she’s speaking with. “And makes every last penny well spent, especially once it is strewn across my bedroom floor.”

“That is a very interesting point about money well spent. You haven’t even bothered looking for your little bit of side action,” Gorman says, accepting a tumbler of whiskey from the bartender as Rick’s own drinks are delivered.

“Didn’t realize she was here.” Rick takes a sip of his drink, making a point of scanning the room. He doesn’t see Amanda anywhere, not now. But earlier? He means every word he said about whatever that outfit cost.

“She’s probably dodging McGinley. Little shit has been hankering after Shepherd since they both joined the department. Probably half of why he’s still patrol while she’s made sergeant, because he keeps thinking with the wrong head.”

The crude speech seems more fitting to an actual bar than here, so Rick arches a brow and motions to the room with his tumbler. Gorman chuckles, acknowledging the point. Then he points out a blond man of about Amanda’s age hovering near the woman he knows is Dawn Lerner.

“Looks like he’s trying to make up for lost time.” Rick knows he needs to talk to Lerner tonight, to assess her in a way that Amanda can’t, not as her subordinate. “Is she even worth the time he’s taking to try to brownnose?”

“Could be. Tough nut to crack. She’s a hardass when it something that’ll put all eyes on the department, but if you’re subtle, keep it below board, she looks the other way.” Gorman’s voice drops low, even though the bartender is at the other end of the bar serving someone else. “Not susceptible to monetary gain. Fired a sergeant last year for taking bribes, even though the idiot offered to cut her in.”

“So not a future partner in…” Rick waves his free hand between them. “Our partnership enterprise.”

“Hell, no. Woman’s more uptight than Shepherd. Thinks her fancy education makes her above petty concerns like money.” 

Rick lets a sly smirk slide onto his features and hopes it doesn’t look ridiculous. “Uptight is not how I would describe the good sergeant. Her? She’s worth cultivating.”

Gorman actually looks thoughtful at that, and Rick sees the idea taking hold. His type runs young and vulnerable, so Rick isn’t worried about him taking the wrong sort of interest in Amanda. But convincing him that she’s an asset gives a wider base of access into Gorman’s activities.

“I should get back before Beth fleeces that man of his entire fortune,” Rick tells him. “You gonna be at the bar next Friday? Agent told me the appraisal on the property will be back by then.”

“Final stop before making the investment, right?” When Rick nods, Gorman shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Shit’s damn complicated.”

“That’s real estate for you. Especially the commercial side. Best get used to it.” Rick doesn’t have the heart to tell him how relatively uncomplicated the current transaction is, compared to others he’s been a part of.

Gorman just laughs and wanders off. Gathering up Beth’s champagne flute of ginger ale along with his tumbler, he heads back in the crowd.

~*~*~*~

Amanda leans against the smooth stone of the building, glad no one else is outside on the patio despite the lighting and decorations. The acoustics had fed Rick and Gorman’s discussion out to her the same way their first conversation had drifted to her on the balcony. It’s not as gut wrenching as that first time, but there’s an uneasy knot in the depths of her stomach.

She’s finally willing to acknowledge that she’s jealous of Beth. The young blonde gives her no real reason to be, because she seems to be the lead cheerleader on Rick and Amanda being more than partners. But Gorman’s description of Beth as a butterfly is half right. She’s nothing so ephemeral as such a fragile insect, although she has its grace and beauty. 

No, Beth is more of a hummingbird. Delicate, breathtakingly pretty, and dangerous as hell when riled, Amanda thinks. She’s seen hummingbirds flog larger birds away from sugar water feeders. Beth has that sort of strength to her.

Rick isn’t an actor, not by any real stretch of the word. He gets by in this operation mostly by playing himself. When he spoke of Beth, his words were colored by lust. She knows that tone, knows it as well as she knows all the sounds of his arousal. Breathing deeply, she tries to just let it go.

They’ve made each other no promises. It’s not Amanda’s norm, but she’s discovering that nothing about Rick fits into her neatly aligned life. He keeps jumbling things around, and while the pieces mostly fall nicely into new places, eventually, she might not recognize it at all. That scares her, maybe even more than hearing passion in his voice toward Beth.

“Why are you hiding out here?”

Amanda suppressed a groan at hearing McGinley’s voice. They’d gone through training together and started in the Atlanta Police Department at the same time. She ignored his crush back then, and it was made easy by the fact that he was stationed elsewhere. But since he transferred into her station last year, he’s been a puppy at her heels.

“Needed a change of scenery,” she admits, figuring why not use the truth. “Too much chatter and too many perfumes clashing with each other.”

“No kidding. It’s like a who’s who of perfume in there. No one warned me about that part,” the blond says. “Do you want something to drink?”

Raising her glass, Amanda shows him she’s got a tumbler in hand. Rum and coke, her one indulgence ordered mainly because she knew Dawn would get frustrated if she didn’t at least pretend to unwind. McGinley smiles, before he chatters lightly about work, and she lets him, because at least his words are familiar ground for her, unlike the schmoozing going on inside.

At least one thing’s been accomplished tonight. Gorman confirmed Dawn’s not involved, because she’s sure the bastard would have bragged at having the lieutenant on board with any of his schemes. It leaves whoever the mastermind of the escort service still unknown, but at least Amanda isn’t handing in reports to a madame masquerading as a police officer, and that’s a much larger relief than she expected.

~*~*~*~

Rick loosens his tie and tosses it on the bench at the foot of the bed before habit makes him pick it up and put it away. His jacket and pants follow, and he paces back to the bed to eye his phone on the charger. The impulse to call Amanda is immense, but she was still at the benefit when he left. She’d arrived with her boss, and Lerner was a politician born. He doubted the woman would leave until she had to.

Instead, he settles for getting undressed and showering, glad that the apartment has such a strong hot water supply since Beth went straight to the shower when they got home. Stretching out in the bed, he reaches for his book and can’t concentrate, especially when he focuses on the little note-turned-bookmark. 

Carl was asleep when he got home, unusual for the teenager on the weekend, but Rick won’t argue. He hadn’t minded Rick needing to go to the banquet, just saying Sophia was coming over to go swimming and watch a movie. Too restless to read or sleep, Rick ends up sending a text to Amanda and getting up to rotate the television in the nook to be able to watch from bed.

He’s a little surprised when the phone rings instead of a returned text twenty minutes later. The smile on his face probably shows in his voice. “I didn’t expect you to call so late. Figured I’d just get a text.”

“You just said to let you know I was home safely. I can hang up and text, you know.” There’s a teasing note in her voice he’s not quite used to.

“Have you been drinking, Amanda?” he drawls, smiling and turning the television off.

“I spent the last hour stuck between my boss and the worst case of puppy love on the damned planet. There may have been a few champagne flutes involved.”

Rick laughs before heading back to his bed. “The last time alcohol and a late night call were combined was nice,” he admits. “But I would much prefer you were here with me. You don’t know how much I had to resist sneaking you off to some closet somewhere and peeling that jumpsuit right off you.”

"That would be far too complicated for a closet quickie, you know." She sounds amused, no doubt picturing him trying to get her out of the complexity of womanly formal wear.

"I'm sure I could figure out how to peel that top down just enough to follow the path that pretty necklace was leading me on."

She’s quiet long enough to make him wonder if he’s offended her somehow. “Amanda?”

“What would you have done to me, with all those people around?” she asks, and there’s a purr to her voice, something like velvet underlying her words. He knows that tone, knows it well.

“The same as I did the first time I had you naked in front of me.” Rick can recall that like it was hours ago instead of weeks ago. Being between her thighs, smelling just how aroused he made her? If she’d been in a skirt tonight, the temptation might have been too much. 

Hearing her sharp intake of breath and the sound of cloth shifting makes Rick a wee bit suspicious. “What are you doing, Amanda?” he drawls softly. “Are you thinking about me on my knees in front of you?”

Amanda whines, and Rick grins, hand sliding south himself, easing under his boxer briefs. This isn’t as good as having her there with him, but he isn’t going to pass on the chance to hear that breathless cry she makes when her pleasure peaks, so he begins to talk. With any luck, she’ll miss him enough to come over tomorrow night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, no actual smut. Phone sex is not really my idea of fun writing. :)
> 
> Next chapter: Amanda finally gets to really meet Michonne to learn how Rick's best friend ended up engaged to his ex's divorce lawyer...


	21. A Little More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with Shane and Michonne brings some things to Amanda's attention, while Shane's good news leads Rick to consider his future with Amanda even more seriously.

Work intervenes enough in the next week that Amanda truly understands why most undercover officers don’t also work their regular jobs while working their case. She can’t imagine how stressful it would be for them, though, because she gets to go home to her own place every night. Not being cleared to drive herself is driving her just a little bit crazy as well, but it’s just a matter of waiting out the worst of the issues with her ribs.

She’s seen Rick twice, both times coming by for supper at his request. Staying the night had been far too easy both times. The sex is still spectacular, but what worries her is how much she’s missed falling asleep next to someone in bed, and how easy it is to do that next to Rick. Getting attached without any commitment is something she’s never, ever risked, but it’s too late to look back now.

Physical therapy also keeps her busy, since the therapist has her seeing him twice a week. One session is in the rehab center’s gym and another in the heated pool, with a third optional session added for her to join the senior water aerobics class on Saturdays. Wanting to use all the options afforded to her by her insurance, she does that, too.

The Saturday class after work is why Amanda is running late to meet with Rick and Shane at Rick’s place, because one of the elderly ladies in the class is having a problem with petty theft at her apartment. Since she actually lives in Amanda’s area, she takes a report and promises to send a patrolman to follow up. Sometimes it’s as simple as a uniform being seen in the area a few times to deter less seasoned thieves.

“Rick? Can I borrow your shower?” she calls out as she lets herself in.

“You know where it is,” he replies as she rounds the corner into the living area from the foyer and stops short, checking her watch. Obviously, she’s later than she thought, or Shane’s earlier than she expected, because the tall, wide-shouldered deputy is leaning against the breakfast bar while Rick attends something on the cooktop. Michonne is relaxed in the armchair with the footrest, with Andre playing nearby with what looks like half a toy store’s worth of Legos.

Blushing a little, Amanda greets Shane and his family even as she slips behind the counter to accept the chaste kiss Rick obviously wants to give her. “Sorry. Work aligned with physical therapy.”

“You are probably in the room of the most understanding people in the world for that,” Rick teases, which gets a grin and a nod from Shane. “Go get your shower. Food will be done by the time you’re out.”

“It smells wonderful.” And she knows it can’t all be what’s in front of Rick, which looks like some sort of homemade Mexican rice mixture that probably contains quinoa if she knows his recipe adaptations.

“Enchiladas, rice, and jicama-mango slaw. Oven’s got another twenty minutes to go on the enchiladas.” Rick motions toward the coffee table, where chips and dip seem to be set up. “You can see if Michonne will share her guacamole and chips.”

The attorney grins, but she looks a bit tired. “Amanda’s allowed, because she’s polite enough not to scarf the entire bowl when I’m not looking.”

The teasing banter makes Amanda smile. “Sounds perfect. I have got to get the smell of chlorine off me first, though.” Normally, she would have showered at the pool, but interviewing the elderly woman had taken precedent.

In the bathroom, she sets her bag on the counter, eyeing her pool water and Georgia humidity frizzed hair with a wary eye. At least Rick is right that no one here will be frustrated by the demands of a law enforcement job, and she suspects that Michonne’s job merits even weirder schedules at times. Looking forward to the meal and the company more than she expected, she strips down and takes her time enjoying Rick’s all too lovely shower.

Dinner conversation is light enough that it’s like any other meal where a new person meets their partner’s best friend and family, she thinks. Although she’s met Michonne in passing, and spoken in depth to Shane even on personal issues, it’s different, seeing them all relaxed together. Just like with Naomi, Rick shows an ease with Andre that Amanda actually envies. It’s not that she doesn’t adore her nieces and nephews, but children baffle her until they’re teenagers, for the most part.

The men and Andre slip off to Carl’s room to borrow the teenager’s telescope after the boy mentions learning about the planets this week at school. Left with just Michonne, Amanda tidies the kitchen, even as the tall lawyer settles on a barstool and watches her with curious eyes. “In all the time I’ve known Rick, you’re the first woman he’s dated that he’s ever introduced to his family, you know.”

Amanda freezes in setting the dishwasher, turning to look at Michonne. “Really? How long have you known Rick?”

“Four years.” Michonne smiles, a little bit of mischief in her expression. “Did Lori never tell you who handled her side of the divorce?”

“Seriously?” She knows her sister-in-law had a shark of an attorney, but honestly, she’s never been curious about who it actually was.

“Guilty as charged. I handled Carol’s divorce as well. Doing pro bono work for disadvantaged women is the least I can do for the blessings life’s given me professionally.” Shrugging, Michonne takes a drink from her glass of lemonade. “Lori’s wasn’t quite the same, but a friend gave her my card, and once I knew who Rick’s mother was, I figured she needed all the extra firepower she could get.”

The idea makes Amanda squirm. Rick and Lori seem perfectly friendly, and Daryl certainly seems to like him, so the divorce couldn’t have been too acrimonious. “Is that how you met Shane?”

“Yeah.” The smile on the woman’s face qualifies for the word besotted, Amanda thinks. “Andre’s biological father was one of the worst mistakes I ever made. I was dead set on being a single mom and letting no man near my son.”

“What changed that?” Having met Shane, Amanda can acknowledge the man has a sort of innate charm that is quite appealing.

Michonne outright laughs. “I met a cocky deputy, all caught up in the middle of his best friend’s divorce. All it was at first was him buying me a coffee and explaining Rick wasn’t a bad guy, just perpetually clueless when it came to women, including his wife. Then it was coffee and debating the intricacies of the law, and as soon as the divorce was signed and filed, it was coffee in bed.”

“Sex is different than co-parenting, though,” Amanda notes. It’s one of the issues she’s still on the fence about. Regardless of her future ideas about children, Rick has a child, and anything she and Rick do will affect Carl, nearly grown or not.

“I agree. At the heart of all this that intrigued me, mind and body, there’s this guy who looks so completely wrong on paper for being a father, but he and my boy? Love at first sight. There’s nothing in this world more important to Shane than Andre is. Not me, not Rick, not even his Grandma Jean. Probably Carl would come an extremely close second, because he loves that boy like his own, too. I think for a long time, Shane thought Carl was as close as he would ever come to fatherhood.”

Thinking of all the small clues Amanda’s been given about Shane growing up fatherless and later losing his mother, she supposes she understands the man better than she does Rick most days. “Sometimes the best family is the one you choose,” she says, thinking of Daryl and Merle and Mama McGinley. “I can understand how Andre just knew he’d found his missing family. I felt like that the first time I ever met Daryl when I was four.”

It’s her first real memory, one that’s foggy on the finer details, but she remembers how scared Daryl was and that he smelled faintly of smoke when she hugged him tight with all her little girl strength. When he hugged her back and cried in her arms, they weren’t two strange kids with the same foster mom anymore, but family. She hopes Andre has that same sort of sense memory of knowing Shane was who was missing from his life.

“You’re adopted?” Michonne sounds surprised enough that Amanda blinks in confusion, which prompts the woman to continue. “I’ve known Merle and Daryl a long time, since Merle started dating Carol, actually. The way they both talk about you, I suppose I just… assumed.”

Amanda smiles happily at that. It’s one thing to know that she and Daryl were siblings long before the law made it legally so. Merle was never formally adopted, but it’s always nice to hear that the elder Dixon brother is equally attached to her being in his life. “Most people don’t realize. I guess we look enough alike.”

“That’s Shane’s biggest complaint about him and Rick. They don’t look enough alike for people to not question their relation to each other. It’s even more entertaining when Rick’s mother is around or Shane’s grandmother. Rick looks more like Jean than his mother, and Shane could pass as Evelyn’s biological son, by some quirk of genetics.”

It’s a tidbit that makes Amanda wildly curious about Rick’s mother now. There aren’t any photos on display in the apartment, either by Rick’s active choice or bachelor laziness toward decorating. He has a few framed candids of Carl in his office on the desk, and another on his dresser in the bedroom, but none of anyone else, not even Shane. Then again, like many modern folks, the bulk of his photos could be digital.

The fact that Michonne has at least met Rick’s mother intrigues Amanda, but just like she can’t manage to ask Lori about the woman, she stays silent here, too. Instead, she focuses on Michonne herself, and as she pours herself a glass of wine, she offers Michonne a glass. “Before I put it up, do you want any?”

“No, thank you. We’re in the middle of a round of fertility treatments, so alcohol is firmly off the table.”

Well, that makes sense why Rick didn’t break out the bottle during dinner, instead putting the bottle and two glasses on the counter before Andre distracted him. It’s probably why Michonne looks so tired. Amanda remembers an acquaintance from college going through the treatments, and the hormone shots alone nearly drove the other woman around the bend.

“I’m not sure I could do all that myself, when there are so many kids needing adoption,” Amanda admits, knowing it’s one of those things that sounds condescending even when you don’t intend it to. 

Luckily for her, Michonne doesn’t take it as a jab. “Adoption’s complicated enough with our careers, but add in us being biracial? Complicated isn’t a big enough word for that.”

“Are they really that stupid?” Amanda asks, frowning, but she knows it’s probably true. Biracial couples are far more common these days than they were when she was young, but Shane and Michonne’s pairing is one that’s still practically taboo, especially in the Deep South: a black woman and a white man.

“They are exactly that stupid. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got plenty enough money to blow through all those barriers, and I probably will one day because I’m thirty-eight now. I don’t think I can manage this whole fertility thing again, not after we’ve tried three other times in the last eighteen months and have nothing to show from it. But last time, I didn’t get to have all the joys of pregnancy with a partner, and Christ Almighty, I just want to have that experience with Shane. Biology is just a bitch fucking with us both.”

The crudity seems shocking, yet appropriate, coming from the otherwise cultured woman. Amanda thinks she understands, because it isn’t fair that people that don’t want children have them and abandon them all the time, while others struggle. It does add to the trickle of guilt that still sits in the back of her mind about the emergency contraception she still hasn’t said a word to Rick about. She really needs to make an appointment with her gynecologist to see about some form of birth control, if they’re going to keep sleeping together.

“Hopefully you can do both then, pregnancy and adoption. I think Shane might have enough energy for a whole baseball team.”

Michonne laughs, nodding her head. “Lord does he ever. I think three or four might be my own limit. We’ll see on Monday.”

The men and Andre return, ending that line of conversation, although as Amanda watches the little family the rest of the evening, she really hopes they get good news this time.

~*~*~*~

Having Amanda over Saturday to meet Shane and Michonne without any excuses about the investigation makes Rick happier than he really has a right to be about it. Even Shane’s good natured ribbing about how comfortable the woman is in Rick’s apartment only added to his sense of all being right with his world. Even better, Amanda sticks around all day Sunday and doesn’t seem to be heading home as evening approaches.

He does his best to ignore the sly looks he gets from Beth when she’s home, and his son’s happy snarky remarks when he calls while Rick’s cooking supper and the teenager hears Amanda while he’s on speaker. Carl loves Amanda, regardless of Rick dating her, and it’s both a relief and a complication. If things go bad between them, at least he’s proven he can be a mature adult after a split.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Son of a bitch.” 

Amanda’s pained cursing makes Rick dart a look at her as he pauses in brushing his teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

Eying her own toothbrush like it’s the devil itself, Amanda reaches for the cup and rinses her mouth. She barely catches the dental crown she’s spit into the sink before it makes it to the drain. “Dammit. That was expensive as hell the first time around.” Rinsing again, there’s a fragment of tooth with the second round, and she makes a pained sound that reminds him of the first weekend after her ribs were injured while holding her jaw.

“That’s not good. Does your dentist do emergency care?” he asks. It’s eight on a Sunday evening, and their early intended bedtime is a courtesy to Rick’s need to work tomorrow. But he really doesn’t like the idea of her waiting until morning when she is in obvious pain.

“No.” She glances at Rick. “I’m guessing you know one who does.”

“Only because Dianne’s kid knocked out a tooth last week.” Heading for his phone, he looks up the contact he saved, figuring it might come in handy at some point. It’s not like he hasn’t needed emergency dental work due to a confrontation with a suspect before. Amanda doesn’t object, so he makes the appointment.

The root canal doesn’t take more than an hour, but it also tells Rick something about Amanda he wouldn’t have guessed. She can’t stand the dentist, to the point that she asks for and gets the work done under conscious sedation. The demerol and phenergan combination isn’t anything he’s ever had done, but he’s been lucky to never even need the gas for his rare dental work.

After, he takes her home and tucks her into his bed with the deep satisfaction that every time pain medication makes her loopy, she focuses such open affection on him. Stolen kisses, groping that slides between affectionate and almost serious, and goofy statements about the things she likes about him; he likes it all. It’s wrong to enjoy it so much, he knows, except that it gives him such hope that she’s going to trust him enough to give him a real chance one of these days.

Rick considers taking a sick day off work, until he realizes Amanda would probably kick his ass before doing another runner. This isn’t as serious as the recovery after the shooting, and even then, she hadn’t wanted him hovering. Instead, he preps smoothies for the fridge and makes her scrambled eggs for breakfast.

As she sits at the breakfast bar clad in nothing but panties and one of his old t-shirts, he can’t resist a goodbye that peppers kisses along her throat since her mouth is still damned sore from the dental surgery. “Could you stay again tonight?” he asks, promising himself that he’s going to finally talk to her about where this thing between them is going.

“I will,” she promises, and he believes her. Leaving her curled on the couch under an afghan to work her way through his DVR, he goes to work with far more enthusiasm than a cop really should have on a Monday.

It doesn’t jinx him, at least. Shane’s gone for the morning, but when he does appear in Rick’s office doorway a little after one, the younger man is grinning so hard it looks painful. He shuts the door behind him. “Second positive test, Rick,” he manages to get out. “We’ve never gotten two before.”

Rick’s out of his seat and giving his brother a bear hug like none other before he can manage a reply. “That’s so fucking great, Shane.”

The problem with living in King County after Shane moved up here is that the bulk of Shane and Michonne’s experience with the fertility clinic has been when Rick was too far away to do something as simple as hug Shane when things got overwhelming. It feels right, to be here today, after all Shane did when he had his own issues to sort out.

Shane’s face is pressed into Rick’s shoulder as he mutters roughly. “We aren’t out of the woods yet, and I cannot even imagine if something goes wrong. But she’s pregnant.”

Once Shane finally lets him go and sinks into one of the visitor’s chairs, while Rick takes the one beside him. “I’m guessing no one else will know until after the first trimester?” he asks.

“Well, Michonne will probably tell Andrea at work, in case something comes up, and she’s cool with Amanda knowing so you don’t have to keep it to yourself. We’ll wait that long to tell Andre, because he’s been wanting a little brother or sister for a long time.” Shane’s quiet, mulling something over. “I got her to promise to me that it’s the last time, you know. If things don’t work, we can adopt or try a surrogate. Those meds, man, they make her so damned messed up sometimes.”

“What’s she think about that?” Rick may have missed the last few times the couple went through this, but he’s seen it up close now: the stress, fear, and hope.

“I think she’s okay with it now. I mean, she knows I don’t care about any biological shit, Rick. Made that pretty damn clear to her from the beginning.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. The tousled curls and the naked hope on his face makes him look twenty again instead of nearly forty. “I wish it was me that was the problem. I’d get that sperm donor catalog from the clinic in a heartbeat and not care one damn bit as long as she got a baby as the end result.”

The reality of what he’s just said sets in, and Shane reaches out. “Jesus. Sorry about that, brother.”

Rick waves it off. “I understand, you know. It wouldn’t matter to me, either.”

“You even told Amanda yet?” It’s funny how Shane knows he hasn’t, because his brother continues before Rick can even shake his head. “That’s a conversation you need to be having soon, Rick. I know how deep you are right now with her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s mutual. She’s that type of woman.”

“I’m afraid talking about kids will send her running for the hills. She’s pretty focused on her career right now.”

“Most working women are, but it’s still a conversation to be having. I know Michonne having Andre made it easy to talk about it early on for us, but Jesus, Rick, me and her discussed kids a month in.”

Rick starts to protest it hasn’t been that long, but closes his mouth as he does the mental tally. He’s been in Atlanta since the end of July, and it’s September twenty-third now. Hell, it’s been a full month since Amanda stayed the night because of Joan, and if anything vaulted them out of simply being friends and partners, that morning together did, and two weeks of sleeping together fairly regularly definitely cements the idea in place.

“I’ll talk to her sometime this week. She had to have a root canal last night, so I’m not sure tonight’s the night for a talk about the fact that I probably can’t give her kids if she wants them.”

It’s taken him years to be able to say that out loud, to acknowledge that Carl’s likely his only biological child. But he can admit it now, has to, because ignoring the problem is one of the myriad of reasons that his marriage died a slow, painful death. He will always love Lori, and Naomi’s as dear to him as Andre is, but he’ll never be able to look at his ex-wife with her daughter and not remember how stubborn he’d been.

“You could always go finish the testing, you know. You don’t know for sure that you can’t.” Shane straightens in his chair. “Having the surgery and then not the followup? I thought it was pretty stupid to only go halfway.”

“Honestly, I was afraid to find out it was all for nothing,” Rick admits. The funny part is, he knows Amanda’s aware of the scars, because she’s got a habit of running her fingers across his lower abdomen when they’re in bed together. But she’s never asked about them, and him bringing it up means admitting he didn’t finish the medical testing he should have had done.

“And it wasn’t important as long as you were making up for being such a geek back in college.” Shane’s tone is teasing. He’s never criticized Rick for the serial dating he did after the divorce. In fact, he practically encouraged it, although Rick doesn’t think Shane meant for him to get stuck on coeds. The few blind dates Shane arranged were at least women in their mid-twenties.

They both laugh, just a little, but Shane’s humor fades. “I’m going to send you the information for the clinic. Make a damn appointment and find out, Rick. Do it as a favor for me, okay?”

“Alright, I will.”

Shane’s presence in the building has become known, because a knock at the door interrupts them. Even after work spirits him away, Shane doesn’t forget. It’s not the contact information that arrives in his personal email half an hour later. It’s an appointment for September thirtieth at the clinic.

It’s a good choice, because Rick probably would have procrastinated. But now the appointment is made, and it’s like a promise he can’t break. When he gets home, and Amanda’s adorably grumpy because of being restricted to soft foods while craving something more substantial, he feels the resolve settle even more.

Shane’s right that he needs to tell her. It’s not that he thinks she’ll abandon him no matter what the outcome of the testing is, but that appointment at least buys him just a little more time. He’ll tell her as soon as he knows a better answer than ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I was too chicken to find out’ because neither of those answers fits his life anymore with her in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the content of the chapter is revived from a barely there infertility backstory of Rick's in RBM that deserved a bit more than a footnote of such a larger story.


	22. She's Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with her adoptive mother helps remind Amanda that she doesn't have to face challenges alone.

It is getting easier and easier to say yes and stay the night at Rick’s apartment, and the fact that they haven’t discussed anything about it makes Amanda uneasy. She doesn’t have a lot of dating experience to compare this to, not after only one serious college boyfriend and then living with Luke. The part that makes her feel less uneasy is that he looks so damn happy every time they wake up together.

She stayed last night, too, not just the Monday night he asked for. Her body still has the languid aftereffects of sex before sleep, and her mood is definitely better than it usually would be for a day of desk duty. No one comments, although she does get a couple of side glances from patrolmen as they leave after the morning meeting. Shrugging it off, she settles into a day of paperwork and monitoring her people from a distance.

“Hey, Shepherd. Can you rustle me up the paperwork for amending duty for Leslie Subramanian?” Amanda looks up from her computer to see Bob Lamson smiling at her. He’s got the slightly sweaty sheen of someone returning indoors from patrol. It might be the latter part of September, but it’s Atlanta. Humidity is just part of the package.

“Sure. Why are we amending duty?” she asks, already navigating to the form menu on the computer. 

“Modified for pregnancy. She’s going to shift over to evidence until after her maternity leave. Boyce is going to take her spot on patrol until then. Already cleared it with Lerner.”

“I didn’t realize she was expecting.” Filling in the form is automatic, even as Amanda thinks of the other female officer, the only one in their precinct except for the lieutenant. Subramanian is two or three years older than Amanda, but she turned down the option to try for sergeant.

“She’s sixteen weeks along. Wanted to stay on patrol until the duty belt and vest became a problem, and that’s this week, apparently.”

Amanda thinks it’s fairly lucky that Subramanian is one of Bob’s officers, because the sergeant seems very matter-of-fact about the whole process. Not all the ranking male officers want to actually follow the department handbook that pregnancy is to be treated like any other injury or disability. Luckily, the city’s police department is big enough to have light duty spots so that Subramanian doesn’t have to go on short term disability leave like some small rural departments require.

Hitting print, she passes the paperwork to him. “Speaking of kids, how are yours doing?” she asks. Years as his partner means it sometimes seems like she knows Bob’s kids as well as her own nieces and nephews.

“Cameron is applying to colleges. His school counselor says he’s got a good shot at scholarships, too, without having to go JROTC and commit to the military.” Bob grins like any other proud dad. “Lily made first chair for clarinet, which is pretty good for a sophomore in the first semester.”

“I can’t picture them both almost out of high school.” It’s not that the Lamson kids were tiny when Amanda first met them, but they were still in elementary school back then. Now one’s about to graduate and the other halfway through high school. Time is definitely going by too fast.

“You and me both.” He shrugs, scanning the paperwork and tucking it into a folder he’s carrying. “How long are you on desk duty? Everything still okay from the shooting?”

“Right now, another week and a half, unless my physical therapist says otherwise. Ribs are healing correctly as of my last x-ray.” Amanda smiles to reassure him. The ballistics had come back finally on the shooting, and she’s just grateful that it wasn’t her rookie who fired the fatal shot that day. She’s less glad that it was the training officer, feeling like as the sergeant that’s a burden she should carry, but at least it wasn’t the rookie.

“How about you come for dinner Friday night? Maria’s been asking about you, although I should warn you that her brother just moved back to town.”

“I don’t think that matchmaking is gonna work out anymore than it did before,” she replies, making Bob smile ruefully. Humoring Maria once by going out on a blind date with her younger brother was one thing, not long before she met Luke. But there had been no chemistry between her and Victor back then, and she can’t imagine it appearing now. “Besides, it probably wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Oh.” Bob doesn’t inquire further, not at work, but she can see the hint take root. “Come for dinner. You can fill me in then, and I’ll tell Maria to lay off inviting her kid brother by.”

Happy to agree, Amanda lets Bob head on his way before turning to motion the next person up to assist them. She doesn’t think much of Leslie Subramanian’s pregnancy until she actually encounters the woman in the women’s locker room, changing out of her patrol uniform. The dark color of the shirt hides the growing swell of belly well, but clad in nothing but the white undershirt, there’s no mistaking the woman’s pregnant.

“Congratulations.” Saying the words surprises Amanda a little, but it outright startles Subramanian. 

The other woman blinks at Amanda for a moment before smiling and running a hand over the stretched fabric of her undershirt. “Thanks. We waited until Caleb was done with his residency. Figured it wasn’t smart to have our schedules so completely insane and toss kids into the mix. But he’s got a job in one of the big pediatric clinics now, so his hours are less crazy.”

Amanda had actually forgotten Subramanian’s husband was a doctor until now. Her fellow officer getting married three years ago mostly meant a change of her name plate, nothing more to Amanda, anyway. “A double congratulations, then, on him finishing up training.” She stuffs her uniform shirt into her gear bag, buttoning a pastel blue shirt over her own undershirt to cover the belt holster she’s wearing instead of her duty belt while going off duty. The uniform pants aren’t as distinctive as the shirt, so she’ll wear those home.

Fully expecting the other woman to finish changing in silence, the same way they always have in the cramped locker room that she suspects was a supply closet before female officers joined the department, Amanda is a little surprised when Subramanian speaks again. “You still married to the job?”

Her first instinct is to stiffen and take offense, but when she meets the petite woman’s eyes, she sees only a teasing curiosity. It’s a reminder that Subramanian was Bello, back when Amanda first started, and one of the few female officers who didn’t get hung up on trying to be more of a hardass than the males just to get by. She’d been kind to Amanda in her rookie days. “Mostly. I don’t see wedding bells in my future, but there is someone who understands the work now.”

“Yeah? I’m glad to hear that. It’s like finding a damn unicorn, finding a man who thinks being a cop isn’t crazy with a capital C. Hell, I married Caleb so fast his mama swore I had to be knocked up.” Zipping her bag closed, the shorter woman hoists it over her shoulder. “You cleared for driving yet?” Amanda shakes her head. “How about I give you a ride home then? It’s on my way.”

It actually sounds better than snagging one of her own officers to drop her off at her apartment, so Amanda agrees readily. The short ride passes with light chatter, mainly about whether or not working in evidence will be tedious or interesting, and by the time Amanda exits the car, they’ve left surnames behind. There really are too few female officers to put up false barriers, she thinks as she tosses her gear bag on the couch and goes to pour herself something to drink from the bottle of cranberry juice in her fridge.

Not being at the apartment for four days in a row means that the fridge is nearly bare, and housework is more than a bit behind. The idea of vacuuming sounds impossible, but making a shopping list is enough. Lori’s offered to do shopping for her while she can’t drive, so she might as well humor her sister-in-law. But since she’s asking someone else to shop, she is more thorough than usual, and a foray into the bathroom shows that she’s nearly out of body wash and shampoo both.

Taking inventory in the bathroom also reminds Amanda of a very important fact that makes her freeze in place. She’s four days late.

“It’s nothing,” she mutters to herself, pulling out her phone and doublechecking the stupid little period tracking app to find her mental math was correct. “It’s probably just the emergency pill.”

Google tells her it’s possible for her cycle to be off track, even with the type she’d used that wasn’t a huge dose of hormones. Still, she can’t stand the uncertainty, and there’s a drug store within walking distance. Within the hour, she’s back in her tiny bathroom, staring at the traitorous plastic stick laying on the side of her bathtub.

The second pink line is pale, but not so pale that she can swear it’s not there at all. It’s telling her something she didn’t want it to say, and she curses the fact that the store down the road had been out of the digital type. She should have bought the other brand, too, the one with the damn plus sign, just for a second opinion.

Amanda’s most likely pregnant, and she isn’t even in a real relationship with the baby’s father. It’s always possible that the test is wrong, because her roommate in college had one test positive when it wasn’t. But the parallel with her own mother churns in her gut, and she thrusts herself to her feet, fleeing the too small bathroom to pace in the living room. She gets her phone out repeatedly, torn between calling Rick or at least texting, but in the end, it’s her gynecologist’s office she calls instead, barely getting through before they close for the day.

“I’m sorry, Miss Shepherd, but Doctor Carson’s booked solid for this week and next. If you don’t mind seeing one of the partners, I can work you in next Wednesday.” The receptionist’s calm tone shows she’s used to panicky women calling at the last minute. She’d make a good cop, with that soothing tone. “But you are correct that home tests can be prone to false positives sometimes. It’s always best to have a full exam done.”

“No, I want to stick with my own doctor.” The idea of seeing a perfect stranger makes Amanda’s skin crawl. Carson’s been her gynecologist since she was a teenager and first encountered her complete inability to take any sort of hormonal birth control. “I don’t work Mondays, but I could probably make a four o’clock appointment the rest of the week.”

“How about the ninth? Doctor Carson has an opening for four fifteen that day.”

“I’ll be there.” Hanging up, Amanda enters the appointment reminder into her phone and runs a hand through her hair. She’ll figure it out then, and once she knows, she’ll tell Rick. There’s no point in them both being worried for the next two weeks, right? Even if she is pregnant, there’s nothing that says she has to continue the pregnancy, either.

Not telling Rick is easier said than done, accomplished mostly by staying at her own apartment for three nights running. He seems more confused than upset, but by Saturday, her excuses run out since they do have an enormous amount of financials and paperwork to comb through, courtesy of Eugene’s computer wizardry. After promising during their lunchtime phone call that she’ll be by after supper with her family, she makes good on the alibi.

Pulling up in front of the multiple story building that’s titled ‘retirement village’ instead of the apartment building it actually is, she thanks the Uber driver and gets out. Checking in with the security guard, she heads for the elevator and the seventh floor.

They’d been lucky, thirteen years ago, that Mama McGinley beat the odds with her cancer. Since she’d given up her small rental house to stay at the nursing home through the worst of the treatments, the elderly woman had moved into the income-based-rent building and lived here happily ever since. Every time Amanda visits, she is a little amused at how the tiny one bedroom seems so much larger than her own. It’s just a side effect of anywhere Mama McGinley lives.

When her adoptive mother opens the door, the scent of fried chicken wafts out into the hallway, even as Amanda finds herself wrapped in a warm embrace. She grew taller than the older woman by the time she was eleven, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow Mama McGinley still has a hug that can outdo Merle’s best bear hug, and she always seems to know when it’s needed.

Except this time, it’s soft and gentle, reminding Amanda that she hasn’t come by since the shooting. They usually have a Saturday supper together the end of every month, so she’d figured she could wait, but as she’s ushered inside, guilt curls in the back of her mind. It doesn’t matter that it’s an hour’s trip out here. She should have come sooner, not just called.

Somehow she isn’t surprised to see that the entire meal is her childhood favorites: fried chicken, baked mac and cheese, green beans, and biscuits. It’s heavy fare she wouldn’t eat anywhere outside her mother’s domain, but she’ll indulge here.

It doesn’t take long to trade all the family gossip while eating, but there’s a sense of something pending that lingers even as Amanda washes dishes while her mother puts the food away. Half will go home with Amanda, and half will probably be passed off to the neighbor’s adult grandson when he visits his mother after church tomorrow. The nice part about promising to go to Rick’s is that she can gift Carl with the leftovers.

“So, you’re certainly talking circles around the most important thing going on in your life right now, aren’t you, pumpkin?” 

The sweetly spoken words make Amanda freeze with the half clean saucepan in her hands. “What?” Her mind goes instantly to the positive pregnancy test, but there’s no way for her mother to know that.

“Sophia and Carl came by last Saturday for a good, long visit.” The knowing smile she gives Amanda makes her start putting the pieces together, especially combined with those two names. Daryl, Merle, and their wives would probably leave it to Amanda to share what’s going on with Rick, but the teenagers? Hell, no.

“They told you that I’ve been dating Rick.” Even though she’s tried not to stay overnight when Carl’s there, the boy’s not ignorant. He’s figured it out, especially since he’s encouraging everything.

“Carl’s quite excited about it, you know. He thinks you’re quite perfect for his dad.” Taking the finished pot, her mother rinses it and places it in the drain rack. It’s the last of the dishes, so Amanda drains the sink and dries her hands.

“I’m not sure how perfect works out in the end.” Her voice trembles, which means she’s led to the small two-seater sofa and settled next to the woman who’s raised her since she was four years old.

“Honey, there’s no such thing as perfect. You know that without me telling you. The trick is finding the person whose imperfections mesh well with your own, like I did.” Mama’s husband died three years before Amanda came to her home, and as a pair, they’d been foster parents since their mid-twenties, never having any children of their own.

“I’m not sure it would work out like that for us. We come from very different worlds.”

The soft chuckle her mother gives as she pats Amanda’s hand is soothing. “You think I don’t know who that boy’s mama is? The important part is the world he chooses to be in, not the one he comes from. It’s the same as it is with your brothers. Money just makes it a little more confusing.”

Amanda swallows hard, taking comfort from her mother’s closeness. “Sometimes getting free of your past is harder than it should be.” Because she’s sitting here, proof of how not everyone escapes their past, or she wouldn’t be waiting out the days to her doctor’s exam like it’s a prison sentence instead of something joyful. “I think I might be pregnant,” she blurts out, suddenly needing to say it out loud to someone, before it claws its way right out of her head.

“I’m guessing you aren’t happy about it, sounding like that. What’s wrong, Mandy?”

Taking a deep breath, Amanda spills out all the confusion she has about Rick. It’s hard to be fully honest, with avoiding the issues of the investigation that overlap everything, but she does her best. “Every future plan he seems to have is about Carl being grown, not starting all over with a new family, Mama. He doesn’t want more kids.”

“Maybe you’re right, and he’s not inclined to be a father again at his age. It doesn’t mean you can’t be a good mama all on your own.” 

When Amanda turns to protest, the knowing smile on her mother’s face makes the words halt. This is the woman who, while widowed, decided to adopt two kids and raise them as her own despite all the challenges their backgrounds of extreme neglect, and in Daryl’s case, outright abuse, entailed. “I don’t want to do it all on my own.”

It’s that statement that tells her that the decision she wasn’t sure about before, whether she would even keep the baby, is made. It might have been smarter for her mother to have had an abortion or to have given Amanda up for adoption at birth instead of being forced into it four years later, but the thought of ending this possible pregnancy doesn’t sit well with her.

“Well, if that man can’t bring himself to start over, then you’ve just got to remember you aren’t on your own, and you aren’t a fifteen year old girl. You’re an educated woman with plenty of savings and a good job. As for being on your own, do you think either of your brothers would do anything less than support you every step of the way? If there’s really a little one coming, it won’t lack for father figures, you know that.”

Amanda knows she’s right, because there’s no way in this world that Daryl wouldn’t step up to be her child’s father figure if it didn’t have one in the picture. Even Merle, for all his grump and bluster, would be right there, too. “I don’t know for sure. Home tests can be wrong, sometimes.”

“When’s your appointment?”

“The ninth.” 

Mama hums slightly before getting up to make a note on her calendar that hangs over the tiny table in her kitchen. “I’ll meet you there, so you don’t go in there all alone.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I don’t, but I’m going to be there.” She comes back to sit down beside Amanda. “But you should have a talk with Rick, and soon. He deserves to know what’s going on, especially if you are pregnant.”

“If I’m not pregnant, it’s creating a lot of stress for nothing.”

“You didn’t manage this all by yourself, so I’d say he deserves his fair share of the stress, Mandy.”

“No.” At the stern look on her mother’s face, Amanda shakes her head again. “I mean it, Mama. I don’t want him knowing until there’s something to know.” It’s only eleven more days of uncertainty.

“Alright. I won’t mention it again, as long as you promise me that no matter what answer you get in that doctor’s office, you sit down with Rick and have a serious discussion about what sort of relationship you two are actually in.”

With that settled, Amanda visits for another half hour before assuring herself that her mother has everything she needs. Between the services offered by the retirement village, plus all three of Mama McGinley’s children, the elderly woman is usually well supplied and prepared. She bids her farewell when her phone app tells her the Uber driver she scheduled is arriving.

It’s funny how a two-hour visit settled all the fear and trepidation right out of her mind. Her mother is right, and no matter what happens at the gynecologist’s office, she’s not alone. She’s not a fifteen-year-old girl with no support system that’s too desperate for anyone to love that she’s keeping a baby she can’t take care of. If she’s pregnant, then she’ll figure out what to do next, with or without Rick in the picture.

In the darkened backseat of the Uber car, she lets herself wonder for the first time what it would be like if she’s really pregnant and Rick’s happy about it. Could they actually manage to pull together a family from their wobbly not-relationship and raise a child together? The part of her that’s more attached to Rick already than she wants it to be yearns for that answer to be yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amanda got this chapter solo, so Rick will get the next one. 😉


	23. Given Enough Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finds himself summoned for a Saturday lunch with Amanda's adoptive mother.

Amanda returning to her apartment is disappointing, although Rick reminds himself that practically living together when they’ve only known each other for two months is something his old therapist would have a field day with. So he’s patient instead, using some of his free nights to put in appearances at Merle’s bar. The paperwork is underway to close on the club that’s part of the cover he’s using with Gorman, and he’s reminded of just how slow undercover operations can go sometimes.

Saturday at least adds some extra interest when a volunteer shift at Jesus’s shelter when he’s passed a thumb drive by the smiling, bearded man. “Courtesy of Eugene,” he tells Rick. “You’d left work yesterday when one of his searches finished compiling.”

Rick thanks him, returning to work unpacking donated canned goods and putting neatly on shelves in the big store room for the shelter’s kitchen. Carl’s out front, tutoring, and Rick often joins him, but there hadn’t been anyone needing him today. When Jesus doesn’t leave right away, he looks up. “Is there something else?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know why we received a significant grant from a charitable foundation that was earmarked for paying for professional tutoring, along with an updated library of all the books we use for the kids here?”

“Why would you think that?” Rick asks, calmly placing another can on the shelf. The donation hadn’t even been from any funds he manages, but just a well placed suggestion to his cousin. Running the family company means his cousin has many, many more strings to pull than Rick does, and Rick doesn’t ask him to pull them often. They don’t have enough volunteers for tutoring here, nor the budget for the expensive services available to kids like Carl.

“Just a hunch, I suppose. Receiving such a specific set of titles and supplements to them seemed like someone had visited the center, at least.” Jesus smiles warmly. “We’ll be sure to put the funds and books to good use.” He leaves Rick to the shelf stocking, and only then does Rick allow himself a smile about the encounter.

When they get home, he takes a look at the data on the thumb drive and realizes quickly that it’ll work better as printouts. Eugene’s included some significant analysis as well, which he appreciates since financial paper trails aren’t his speciality. That’s what he has Yumiko’s firm for, with his personal and family finances. She even employs her own CPAs.

But he doesn’t want to involve Yumiko any further than he already has, so whatever financial expertise Eugene’s absorbed will have to do. Setting up the files to print, he texts Amanda to join him to go over everything. If it ends up being a weekend visit, so much the better.

Aside from a delay due to a family dinner she already had planned, it does end up being a weekend, at least Amanda’s weekend. She stays Saturday through Monday night, but doesn’t seem upset when he avoids sex over the weekend, but the instructions from the clinic had been clear on abstinence. It’s not like he tells her about the appointment, since it feels like he’ll jinx himself if he talks about it before the results are in. She seems distracted, and he’s selfish enough to let it help them avoid the conversation a little while longer.

Instead, they finish the last of the review for the investigation, which is frustrating because they are still no closer to who Gorman’s boss is. So far, the trail seems to end with the corrupt sergeant, and Eugene’s notes state there’s no more digging to be done. Anything new will have to come from the man himself.

Work sidelines any plans to meet with Gorman. A five-year-old kid goes missing in Rick’s jurisdiction, wandering out of the house during the night on Tuesday. Every deputy with the department is part of the search, along with volunteers from surrounding departments, both county and city, and a healthy number of state law enforcement. She’s found alive forty hours after she was last seen, and he’s never been more relieved in his life.

Rick hadn’t come home during that time period, sleeping in his office the one time he ran out of steam. Thursday night is a date with his shower and then his bed, with only a short conversation with Amanda to tell her that the girl was found. The surprise is that he wakes before his alarm to answer his bladder’s demands, and he’s not alone in bed.

He can’t resist kissing her awake, since it’s only fifteen minutes before her alarm would go off anyway. She smiles sleepily at him. “You came over because I was having a rough night,” he says softly.

“You didn’t sound quite like yourself,” she replies, hand smoothing across his chest through the t-shirt he slept in. “Last time I worked a missing kid case, I had nightmares.”

There’s an odd note in her voice that makes him think that case didn’t have a good ending like his did. Coming here might have been for mutual comfort last night, but either way, he’s glad she came.

He’s an hour late to work, not because of morning sex, which would be preferable, but due to helping work a car accident of small car versus deer. Dianne looks up when he crosses to his office. “Left a message on your desk. Elderly lady. Thought it was your Grandma Jean at first.”

Rick thanks her, going to pick up the small pink message slip. He recognizes the name right away, despite never having met the woman. Carl makes regular visits to see her, after all. Figuring he’s in for another shovel talk of sorts from one of Amanda’s family, he returns the call. What he doesn’t expect is an invitation to lunch the next day, but he accepts. Like she tells him, they have family in common.

Saturday finds him pulling up in front of a retirement village building not that different from the one that Jean lives in across town. This one is a little older, a little less fancy, but from what little he knows of Daryl and Amanda’s adoptive mother, the elderly woman probably doesn’t allow either of them to supplement her income the way Jean finally let Rick and Shane do for her. Getting out of the car, he meets her as she stands up from where she’s been sitting on a bench near the entrance.

She’s dressed like many women of her generation for a special dinner out; a pastel green pant suit over a floral blouse, accompanied by a dark green leather handbag. Her white hair is neatly pinned into a twist at the back of her head, and she studies him with honey brown eyes that haven’t lost any sharpness with age. Her only jewelry is a plain white gold wedding band on her left hand, a silver cross on a chain around her neck, and a delicate watch fastened around her left wrist.

“Lieutenant Grimes,” she greets him, offering a hand. “I’m Susan McGinley.”

He takes the hand and smiles before tucking it in the crook of his arm. Some of the manners his mother trained in him come in handy, especially in interacting with any Southern bred woman over sixty. “It’s nice to finally meet you, ma’am. Call me Rick.”

She eyes him as they reach the car, seeming to approve of him opening the door for her. “Then you should call me Susan.”

The fact that they’re having this lunch without Amanda, or any of the rest of the family, makes him nervous. Meeting a woman’s parents for the first time typically involves the woman being along, although he hasn’t had a lot of experience. Something tells me Susan’s not anything like Lori’s barely lamented late mother.

“I made a reservation at my mother’s favorite French restaurant in town, if that’s good for you,” he tells her once they’re en route. It may be ironic that he’s taking Susan to something most would consider a first date restaurant, while he and Amanda have yet to do anything of that nature. They’ve shared meals and attended the one ballgame, but nothing like this.

“You’re going all out for the good impression, aren’t you, son?” Susan asks, seeming amused as she glances over at him. 

“Even without considering me and Amanda, you’re Carl’s grandmother. I’m not sure I’d survive his righteous temper if I offended you somehow.”

That makes her laugh. “He probably would take more offense than my children would. He’s still got all the idealistic fervor of the young.”

The rest of the drive is filled in with Susan asking him about the missing child and the particulars of how they were able to find her. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity,” she tells him as they park the car. “Amanda hates to share any part of her job she thinks might worry me.”

“I have to admit to being that way myself sometimes. It’s easier, when the story has a happy ending.” Rick holds the door for her, giving his name to the hostess, who smiles and leads them to a cozy table.

Once they’ve placed their order for drinks and an appetizer, Susan looks around. “This is properly nice. Maybe I should have been adventurous and tried something other than a cheese, fruit, and nut appetizer.”

“Well, if you want to, we can order another, although to be honest, I’ve never been brave enough to try anything but that one and the beet one. I think I’m too much of a Southern boy to ever enjoy snails or pate, to be honest. My mother’s fond of the rabbit pate, though.”

“I’ll save my adventurous spirit for the entree, I think.” 

It doesn’t take them long to settle on their order, and the simple appetizers arrive with their drinks. Remembering how much he’d liked the duck that his neighbor gifted him with, Rick opts for the duck leg confit, although half of his choice is due to it coming with mushroom ravioli. Susan orders the grilled lamb after Rick recommends that dish and the salmon.

“It’s been a long time since Amanda showed any real interest in a man,” Susan tells him once their waiter has left the table. “I liked Luke, really I did, but he was no more suited to my little girl than you were suited to Lori.”

Rick fiddles with the stem of his wine glass. “I don’t know much about Luke, other than he couldn’t handle her being a cop.” In some ways, Amanda has an advantage over him for the significant parts of the past. The dating he’s done since Lori hasn’t been anything important, and Amanda actually knows his ex-wife better than she knows Rick.

“He was a sweet man, a music teacher for one of the city high schools. Too sweet really. Came from a good, solid, middle class family, with still married parents and two adorable younger sisters. Not the sort of life that really prepares someone for being married to a cop from Amanda’s background.”

His job and the extreme differences in their background had both been strikes against his marriage to Lori. In some ways, Amanda’s better off than Lori had been, because she was young enough in her foster care years to not remember most of it. Susan McGinley might have barely made ends meet after her husband died, but it meant that Amanda grew up working poor, not the sort of poverty that he knows Daryl spent his first nine years in and that Lori spent her entire youth in.

Susan’s studying him, not seeming out of place at all in the expensive surroundings. Her clothing isn’t designer like his mother’s, but she’s got the type of self-confidence that probably makes her blend in anywhere. “You have a bit of a type, Rick.”

The simple statement makes him chuckle softly. “My brother once pointed out that my type is as opposite of my mother as I can get, while he gravitates more to the stereotype of marrying a woman like mom.” 

Evelyn and Shane have always had a closer relationship than she and Rick have had since Rick made it to adulthood. He suspects it’s easier for Shane, since he had his actual mother to compare Evelyn to. Sometimes it jars, to consider Michonne’s similarities to Evelyn, but there are enough of them that they can’t be ignored.

“Funny how it works that way.” Their meals arrive, and Susan continues once they’ve each had time to enjoy a few bites of food. “I suspect Amanda has always been looking for someone like my husband, even though she never met the man. He was a teacher, like Luke, although he taught middle school mathematics. But we were married for twenty-five years, so she idolizes things a bit.”

The idea makes sense to Rick. “She seemed disturbed that I was willing to take a job that would only last for a year when I moved here.”

“I think she finds you unsettling,” Susan admits. “And she hasn’t figured out how to ask you where you’re headed to see if being together is a safe enough bet for her.”

Rick takes a deep breath. “My original plans were that if Carl decided to go to MIT, I might move up there. I’ve got family in the area, so it wouldn’t be a major change. But here lately, he’s been talking about Georgia Tech a bit more. I think he’s reconsidering moving so far away from his siblings.” It’s something he can thank Beth for, since she’s arranged tours for Carl on the campus he might not have gotten so easily without a senior to set them up.

“And if he stays here in Georgia?” The dainty bite Susan takes of caramelized potato belies the way she keeps her gaze on him.

“There are usually job openings in the area. It might not be as hands-on as I have now, but work wouldn’t be hard to find. It’d mean deciding if I wanted to keep my lease or buy a house, I suppose, but honestly, that would depend on Amanda.” It’s the first time he’s truly admitted how serious he is. Right now, if Carl still choses MIT, Rick isn’t sure he would follow unless Amanda somehow wanted to live in Boston.

“The house or the job?” 

“Both. If things work out between us, I would need her input.” He never gave Lori choices like that, and it backfired on him spectacularly. That’s not mentioning the third issue, whether or not his tests come back with good news. Amanda’s adopted, so she might not consider it the problem some women her age would, if it’s bad news.

“Smart man.” 

Susan smiles at him, drifting the conversation talking about Carl and Naomi until they finish their meals. She even opts for dessert, a rich chocolate mousse cake, while Rick can’t resist the lemon sorbet. At Susan’s hint, he orders a half dozen macarons to take home, hoping Amanda comes by after she gets off work. 

Since she came last weekend even without sex being part of the equation, he’s hoping the invitation he gave her stands. He wishes this damn investigation was over, because he’s taking too many people other than Amanda out for nice meals and events. Cooking for her isn’t quite the same thing. He would like to spoil her beyond Beth bullying her into the clothing for the charity ball.

In the car to take Susan home, the significance of the chatter about the kids finally hits home, after the older woman just flat out admits she hopes for more grandchildren past Daryl and Lori’s newest. He knows Lori wants to stop after the current baby, and Carol and Merle are done, so that only leaves Amanda. 

It’s not a subject he’s going to broach with Amanda’s mother before he even tells her, so he makes some offhand comment about great grandchildren not being terribly far out of the picture. Granted, he sincerely hopes Carl waits a decade or so, but his son is about to be eighteen. If he’s entirely honest, he thinks he’d be happy enough if his son makes it to at least twenty-five before fatherhood is part of his life. When he was in college, three years seemed like nothing. Now, looking back, he knows the three years between twenty-two and twenty-five are damn near a lifetime in adding significant adult experience.

When they stop at the light nearest the small farmer’s market in Susan’s neighborhood, she looks more tempted by the gathering of outdoor booths than she did by the chocolate dessert. “We can stop by there, if you like,” he offers. “I could use some things at home myself that didn’t get shipped in by truck.”

Having a supermarket attached to his building, no matter how upscale, doesn’t really replace being able to visit the farmer’s market that took over the courthouse square every Saturday back home. Susan nods, so he finds a spot to park. His canvas shopping bags are at home, so he buys one for each of them at the artsy booth near the entrance before they go browsing.

Her choices are definitely leaning toward the traditionally southern: tomatoes, field peas, okra, and squash. Rick finds a couple of nice eggplants, plus a nice cabbage, sweet potatoes, and a few tomatoes of his own. When Susan lingers over a display of flowers before selecting a potted marigold, he wonders if Daryl got his love of plants from his adoptive mother.

He takes the cheery little flower in its painted pot, which is the only thing Susan allows him to pay for other than her shopping bag. It’s easy enough to carry along with their two bags of vegetables. “This reminds me of some of the things Lori makes,” he comments, looking at the design.

They’re out of earshot of the booth when Susan shrugs. “Hers are better, but one of my neighbors has been feeling under the weather. I think it’ll cheer her up, especially if I tell her a handsome younger man bought it.”

Rick laughs. “If that helps, feel free.”

The pretty weather makes their walk back to the car a leisurely one, and Susan broaches the topic of her daughter again. “Amanda’s mother was only fifteen when she was born. If she’d given her up for adoption right away, things would be easier on her, I think. But to keep her four years until she was forced to surrender her rights? That’s a weight my girl has carried a good long time.”

“I can imagine,” he admits, thinking over how Amanda keeps puzzling through the odd connections his family manages. It’s not the same as Shane and Andre, because Rick’s nephew has always had his mother, even if his birth father was useless. “What about her father?”

“A complete unknown. I don’t know if Amanda did any research to see if she could figure out who he was, but I think she would have told me if she found something.” They’ve reached the car and settle their purchases inside. “Her mother died of an overdose when Amanda was twelve. I honestly think she’s so cautious in her personal choices. Her greatest fear is making her mother’s mistakes.”

There’s something behind those words that Rick can’t quite put his finger on, but since Amanda is neither a teenage mother or an addict of any type, it slips his grasp. “Hopefully she’s starting to understand which mother she actually takes after.” And then, for the slightest hint he can’t stop himself from adding, “I could see her with a half dozen adopted kids, you know.”

Susan makes a delighted noise before taking a seat in the car. She lets him get back on the road before asking, “Adoption wouldn’t bother you?”

Rick shakes his head. “My brother was never officially adopted, something more like Merle, but his son is adopted. I’ve lived too many years with Shane to think blood is required to make someone family.” Not to mention that most people think Jean actually is Rick’s grandmother, an assumption neither of them ever correct.

“I think I understand why Daryl likes you so much. He’s always said the same about him and Mandy.”

“Daryl?” Rick asks, laughing. “Not Amanda?”

“Oh, Mandy likes you just fine, but there’s a big difference between the relationship a man and woman develop versus the friendship you and Daryl have, Rick, and you know it. It’s not traditional or expected, but it works, and I’m glad it does. I think you’re good for jolting my daughter right out of her protective shell, and that would never have happened without Daryl being comfortable with you.”

Rick pulls into a visitor’s spot at Susan’s building. “He did take the time to tell me to be patient with her. Said she’d run before she’d admit she was attached.”

Susan laughs. “That sounds like him. He adores his sister, but he’s wise to her quirks, probably because he shares most of them. Difference was, he met Lori and threw it all out the window to be with her. Mandy? Her hangups have to go out one at a time, I suspect.”

“I told him I could wait it out, and I intend to,” he tells her. She smiles and pats his hand, before inviting him up to deliver the plant to her neighbor. The other lady is wheelchair bound, and thrilled with both the plant and her visitors. It ends up being a good half hour before Rick bids them goodbye, far too entertained by both women. 

Times like this make him wish his mother was more like these down to earth women, and it reminds him he should probably take Jean out for a weekend lunch, too. The adventurous old woman probably would try those snails with him.

When he checks his phone, there’s a message from Amanda that she’ll see him Sunday, but housework is piling up at home. He eyes the box of macarons before texting Beth, who happily shares Amanda’s address. If she’s unhappy he’s there, he’ll just deliver the desserts and be on his way.

As nervous as he’d been to meet Susan McGinley, he’s glad he did, because every encounter with her family just gives him such a good dose of hope. Given enough time, Amanda will trust that he’s in this for the long haul, and he doesn’t have to be in a hurry for that to happen. Time is something they do have plenty of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick may be a little too optimistic here, poor man.


End file.
